


Prowl x Jazz Anniversary Challenge 2019

by Hours_Gone_By



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anniversary, Anxiety, Assault, Attraction, Busking, Canon-Typical Violence, Centennial, Coffee Shops, Coma, Comfort, Community: prowlxjazz, Conjunx Endura, Conjunx Ritus, Cowgirl Position, Creepy, Creepy Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnlingus, DW ProwlxJazz Anniversary 2019, Dancing, Dating, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, First Meetings, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Fondling, Friendship, Ghosts, Haunting, Healing, Immortality, Immortals, In Public, Interrupted Sex, Isolation, Kissing, Loneliness, Lullabies, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meet-Cute, Memorials, Mornings, Neighbors, Nightmares, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Overloads (Transformers), Post Season/Series 03, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Proposals, Prowl Lives (Transformers), Prowl x Jazz Anniversary Challenge 2019, Rain, Recovery, Reincarnation, Reincarnation Romance, Reunions, Role Playing, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Sexual Interfacing, Sexual Metaphors, Siblings, Singing, Slow Dancing, Social Anxiety, Sort of anyway, Space Flight, Space Stations, Spaceships, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, The Fall of Praxus, Trauma, Travel, University Student Jazz, Valve Oral (Transformers), Vampire Turning, Walking, Walking In On Someone, Workplace Sex, Wrong turn, crowds, fanfic about fanfic, not actually unrequited crush, not that student!Jazz, prowlxjazz Anniversary Challenge, quiet moments, sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 24,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: What it says on the tin: entries for the 12th Prowl x Jazz Anniversary Challenge.G-rated chapters: Ch. 1-5, 7-8, 10, 12 and 14-21.T-rated chaptersCh. 6 for PTSD and a brief flashback.Ch. 9 for descriptions of violence.Ch. 13 for mecha starting to get hot n' heavy.E-rated chapter: Ch. 11 for sex





	1. Torches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Things we carry

Jazz had been carrying a torch for Prowl - quiet, brilliant, attractive, introverted, oblivious Prowl - for a long time. Probably longer than he should have, given Prowl didn't have a return interest in him.

Which, you know, was fine. Prowl didn't owe Jazz a thing, no matter how Jazz felt. Prowl outranked him anyway and given how by-the-book Prowl was it would've been hard to get him to sneak around like other Autobots fraternizing between the ranks did.

It had been a long war. Rules had become more like guidelines. Just…not to Prowl. So Jazz kept quiet and carried on.

Prowl hadn't failed to notice Jazz's interest, though he did appreciate the other mech's refusal to act on it. It wouldn't have been appropriate, not while Jazz was Prowl's subordinate. Prowl found Jazz attractive - it was in the way he moved, smiled, the line of his throat as he drank fuel - but Prowl was responsible for discipline. It was looser, now but Prowl held himself to the original standard.

Still, when news of Jazz's promotion came through, Prowl's first, pleased, thought was that a barrier had been eliminated. Now, Prowl could maintain standards _and _have Jazz.

If Jazz were willing.

Jazz was willing. Oh, mech, was he _willing!_ Getting asked out was the last thing he'd been expecting when Prowl'd shown up at his new office, but saying 'no' hadn't remotely crossed his mind. If he'd accepted any faster, it would've seriously dented his smooth image if word got out.

Prowl had realized Jazz's interest, but was surprised to be accepted so quickly. Surprised, but - _happy_. Genuinely light-in-the-spark delighted, like he hadn't felt in - he didn't know how long. Prowl hadn't realized how much he wanted this until just now.

Until he and Jazz took a chance with each other.


	2. An Open Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: An open door

Jazz had always had an open door for whatever mecha needed him, either ops-wise or morale-wise or personally. Everyone saw him as pretty much always cheerful and upbeat and didn't really think there was much that bothered him, deep down. No one ever thought, really thought, about how Jazz might need an open door sometimes as well.

Yeah, sure, Jazz could've gone to Optimus, but Optimus had enough slag to deal with, and he would've only felt guilty because the things that stressed Jazz out were things that happened on his orders. Optimus bore enough weight from the war, he didn't need Jazz adding to it. Rung's schedule was always full up, and Jazz didn't want to take a slot away from some mech who needed it more. It wasn't like Jazz didn't have outlets: he raced, fought, planned ops, kept up morale, and did what he could to make everyone else's life easier. He did it so well that no one ever thought he might need some help from time to time as well.

The new head of Strat-Tac Ops was a mech newly in from the western front, and while Jazz knew a whole lot about him, the general agreement was that the mech didn't much in the way of empathy or social skills. A workaholic, apparently. Jazz had definitely never seen him at any kind of social event, not even in the officer's mess. Mech got his fuel and got out apparently, heading back to work and work and work. Jazz put in overtime as well when he needed to but not as much as Prowl. Still, Prowl didn't seem to expect other mecha to put in the same joors he did unless it was necessary so when Jazz got an after-hours meeting request from Prowl he figured it had to be necessary.

"Hey, there, Prowl," Jazz said, sauntering into Prowl's office at the appointed time and snagging a chair opposite Prowl's desk, "what're we planning?"

Prowl had been standing with his back to Jazz, working with something on a console Jazz thought. When he turned around, he had a pair of energon cubes in his hands, though.

"There is no planning," Prowl told him. "There is nothing required of you."

O-kay? "So, what's going on then?"

Prowl set one cube down in front of Jazz and took a seat in his usual chair. "Everyone needs someone to talk to."

Oh. Of course. Prowl was just more comfortable in his office than in Jazz's. Well, Jazz could work with that.

"Including you," Prowl finished.

Jazz sat back in his chair. "And- you're offering?" he asked carefully.

"I am. If you don't want it, I won't be offended if you say 'no' and leave. You don't know me," Prowl pointed out. "Except by my reputation, of course."

"Yeah. I gotta say, it ain't the rep of a mech who'd do this for a stranger."

"No." Prowl stayed perfectly still and calm - seemed like he really didn't want to lay anything on Jazz, at least not tonight. "Some of it is true. I do work hard, I'm uncomfortable in social situations, and I demand adherence to my strategic and tactical plans. If mecha think of me as a drone for that, then I suppose that's the price that must be paid. At least they're alive to complain about me."

There was absolutely no resentment in Prowl's voice, over-or-undertones, or body language. That was when Jazz realized how dead wrong everyone had been about Prowl. The mech was the opposite of uncaring.

"Thanks, mech," Jazz said, meaning it. "I'm gonna take you up on it." Because he _did _need a friendly audial from time to time, he just hadn't had an offer he felt okay accepting before. "Just one condition, though."

"Yes?"

"I'll come to you if you'll come to me when you need to." That curious little twitch of doors was adorable, Jazz decided. "You've gotta need an audial just as much as I do sometimes."

"I," Prowl wasn't supposed to smile, ever, from what Jazz had heard but he _was _even though it was just a shy little thing. "I will like that, Jazz. Thank you."

"My pleasure."


	3. Observing Minutiae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 - Faces in the street

Jazz scanned the faces in the crowd, looking for mecha who might toss a little more in his guitar's case with the right amount of optic-contact. It took some practice but picking out the ones who appreciated a little personal touch led to a better payoff at the end of the cycle. It worked best with mecha who were regulars. Well. Mecha who passed him on the street as part of their regular day anyway, and occasionally slowed down or paused a little longer to listen to him play. Jazz wasn't going to make his fortune busking in the street, of course, but he made enough he could grab the occasional bit of fuel that didn't come from the dispensers in his dorm.

Okay, maybe he should have been saving more, but a mech could only take so much basic energon before wanting a break. Something fancier, even if was just some mercury foam and a few silver sprinkles on top. A carbon cookie on the side if he'd had a good day.

He'd just had a regular day though, so Jazz skipped the cookie, even if he did look at the case and think about it. It had been a regular day, but a tough kilocycle and an extra treat to cheer himself up would have been nice. But hey, at least he could still get the fuel.

Jazz got his fuel, thanked the barista, and turned to leave.

"Excuse me," a calm, assertive, voice said from behind and to his right. "This is yours."

Confused, Jazz turned around to say he hadn't left anything. A familiar mech – after a nano-klik, Jazz placed them as one of his regulars - was holding out a carbon cookie in a little foil sleeve.

"Thanks, but I didn't order one of those today."

"I know," the mech said, with a hint of a smile. "But it's yours if you want it. I've seen you buy these occasionally, almost as often as I've seen you look at them in the case."

Jazz still didn't take the cookie. "That's a lot of attention from a mech I don't know."

"Ah." The smile disappeared. "Forgive me, I'm a detective," a door emblazoned with Enforcers decals tipped forward a little to make itself more apparent, "and observing minutiae is a habit. It wasn't my intent to make you uncomfortable. Please," he took a half-step closer, his body language carefully non-threatening, "take it. As an apology, if not an expression of interest."

"'Kay." Jazz accepted the cookie - wasn't like the mech could've done anything to it - and gave them a considering look. Handsome, obviously attentive, bit creepy on the level of detail but at least they knew when they'd overstepped. Knew, and would apologize without prompting. Jazz had had worse offers. "Apology accepted, mech. Maybe we could take a seat and try that interest thing again?"

The smile made a reappearance. "I'd love to. My designation is Prowl."

Jazz smiled back. "Nice to meet you Prowl, I'm Jazz."


	4. Paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [In Every Voice He'd Ever Had](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727542) but if you just want the backstory I've dropped a brief overview into the endnotes.

Prowl wasn't a vain mech by any means, though he took care in his appearance. He'd almost always been in a position where looking scratch-free and well-polished was important. He just didn't go in for a whole lot more than that unless there was some kind of function or Jazz made him. Mirrors weren't something Prowl spent a whole lot of time in front of.

But when Prowl got a new structure - especially when he was reincarnated into a new one instead of choosing a rebuild - he could spend a breem or so in front of one checking himself out. Jazz liked to watch him do this, then haul him off and give him a reason to check for scuffs all over again.

Prowl's structure this time around had been constructed for a batch of mecha meant for mid-level security roles. It was curvy, with a fast alt, a black-red-white accented colour scheme and heavy civilian-grade armour. The newbuilds in Prowl's batch, who hadn't had previous lives, had all gone on to those tasks, at least for now. One of the things Prime had made damn sure of was that a mech didn't have to stay in the role they'd been sparked for if they didn't want to. But Prowl was Prowl, and he'd been offered a high-level job in Planetary Security as soon as mecha started to accept his return.

Prowl'd turned them down. He was, he said, content to grow crystals and look after the home he and Jazz shared for now. Jazz made more than enough shanix to provide for both of them and, well, Prowl'd earned some downtime anyway.

"As long as that's acceptable to you," Prowl had said when he and Jazz had been talking it over. "I'll understand if you want me to contribute to the household income."

"What, for all that expensive slag you buy on the regular?" Jazz teased. "Nah, Prowler, I make more than enough for both of us. You've been rebelling or fighting or Enforcing since the first time you came online. You want to try out some peace and quiet for a bit, I'm gonna support you. Emotionally, financially, whatever you need. Knowing you it won't be permanent anyway."

Prowl had smiled. "Most likely not, but for the foreseeable future I think I'll simply…relax."

And he did. Jazz usually came home to find Prowl sitting in a chair sipping some energon or coolant and reading a book. There'd been a renaissance of Cybertronian art and culture once everyone started to really believe the war was over and there was a wealth of new reading material for him. Prowl would look up, smile warmly, and tip his head back to welcome Jazz's kiss.

The first mega-cycle Jazz came home and _didn't _find Prowl sitting and reading was an exception and a surprise. Curious, Jazz went looking for him and found him in their washracks, examining himself in the mirror.

"Hey, babe," Jazz said, going over to him. "Need a hand with your polish?"

Prowl turned and smiled at him, kissing him as soon as Jazz got close enough that they could hold each other.

"Not at all," Prowl assured him, arms around Jazz's waist. "I'm simply contemplating making some changes."

"Yeah?" Prowl wasn't one of those mecha that changed their paint scheme regularly, or really made many changes at all. Lots of mecha would find their structure subtly altered by their spark's specifications over time, but never Prowl. "Why?"

"It's only that I've always had a uniform paint scheme," Prowl explained. "A uniform structure. I've always come online as part of a batch of mecha, and I never saw much need to make changes. Then, the war resulted in the deaths of my batch-mates and fellow Enforcers, and I was somewhat unique. You and I matched but not too closely, and I suppose I became used to _not _looking exactly like two-dozen other mecha."

"And here you are in a batched structure again, and you want to stand out a little bit," Jazz concluded. "Whatever makes you happy, babe. You want anything from a repaint to a rebuild, I'm there for you."

"I think a rebuild is a little extreme, but a repaint," Prowl turned his head and considered himself in the mirror again. "Yes. I think a repaint would do nicely."

"Whatever makes you happy, Prowler," Jazz told him. "Love you no matter what paint scheme you've got or what structure you're in."

"I love you too." Prowl kissed him some more, their kisses getting hot fast, to Jazz's delight.

"So, if you're not keeping the paint," Jazz murmured suggestively, "I don't gotta worry about scuffing it up?"

"Having it scuffed up might help me decide on changes faster," Prowl suggested.

Jazz grinned. "Yeah? Let's go find out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The backstory is, Jazz is immortal through some fluke of his spark and while Prowl is, technically, mortal he's been reincarnated many, many times, most recently after his death in the shuttle during The Transformers: The Movie (1986). 
> 
> Post-war, Jazz is Cybertron's Minister of Culture, Heritage, and Tourism. Prowl soon gains a reputation as someone with a knack for growing rare and difficult crystals and helps save several strains currently listed as endangered.


	5. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: This road

'_This road doesn't appear to be going to the destination specified on the map_,' Prowl observed, hugging the curves of the twisty mountain road. He and Jazz were part of core command and thus could have been exempted from the regular patrol routes. But, seeing command take on the same duties and responsibilities as the enlisted Autobots helped maintain morale and so Prowl and Jazz took on a short patrol roughly every six weeks. This patrol was through a mountainous area that seemed almost abandoned. They'd seen no human vehicles on the road, only occasional glimpses of ramshackle houses through the trees, connected to the highway by dirt and gravel driveways.

'_Yeah. You sure we didn't take a wrong turn?'_

If he'd been in root mode, Prowl would have frowned. '_I don't see how. We were following the highway, then turned off a clearly marked exit._' It began to rain, lightly at first but quickly turning into a downpour. Visibility - not for them but for any human drivers sharing the road - could be an issue. '_I don't want to be out in this any longer than we have to. There's a rest area ahead; let's pull over and check our bearings._'

The rest area turned out to be an abandoned weigh station. The scales were long gone but building, possibly a garage that had been stripped bare, was still there, missing its door. The building was tall enough for Prime's alt mode, with room to spare, so they drove in and transformed. Rain pattered heavily on the roof, the air was heavy and humid, and they could hear something dripping in a corner, but it was dry enough.

Human GPS capability was still in its infancy, but Prowl was able to uplink with a Sky Spy and get coordinates for their current location.

In theory. In practice, Sky Spy spat back errors: they had never been intended for use in an atmosphere with such a high moisture content, and Wheeljack was still working out the bugs to let them account for Earth. Prowl had the satellite begin a diagnostic cycle and waited while that completed. In the meantime, he turned his attention to Jazz - certainly no hardship.

Jazz was standing near the entrance watching the rain. It bounced off the asphalt, pooled in potholes and trickled through cracks in the paving. Even though the day had been overcast, it had been warm, and the ground steamed faintly as the cooler rain hit it.

On Cybertron, the rain would have been acidic, and mecha couldn't have stood in it for long. Prowl walked over to join Jazz and held a hand out in the rain for a few seconds just because he could.

"It's tranquil out here," he murmured. That had been something else about Cybertron: the noise. Voices, vehicles, mecha in alt, moving machinery, the sounds of metal bodies interacting. There had been times, though, and places where you could find relative, if not complete, silence.

"Doesn't this remind you of the docks at Iacon?" Jazz asked, taking Prowl's other hand loosely. "Me, sneaking around the warehouses early in the morning. You, arresting me..."

Prowl snorted but tapped out a quick message of affection in Hand. They were alone, yes, but he liked the intimacy of it.

"I detained you on suspicion," Prowl corrected. 

"Yeah, couple times," Jazz noted. "I still think the second time it was 'cause you were too shy to ask me out."

"A relationship with a criminal – "

"Suspected."

"Jazz," Prowl said reprovingly. Prowl might not have been able to prove it at the time, but he knew everything about Jazz now.

"Oh, fine. But I was never convicted. Too good at being sneaky."

"True," Prowl conceded. He tightened his grip on Jazz's hand. "For which I have been very grateful since you joined the Autobots."

"Yeah, me too."

Sky Spy had recalibrated and sent back their coordinates and a satellite view of the area. Sky Spy hadn't mapped this area previously since that task was secondary to monitoring Decepticon activity. In a low-activity area such as this one, imaging had been at low priority until Prowl had made a specific request. Now, with the corrected information, Prowl could see that the maps the humans had provided were in error, most likely outdated.

"I have our coordinates," Prowl told Jazz. "We should have taken the exit after the one we used. We'll have to backtrack."

The rain was beginning to lessen. Human drivers would be less of a concern now, and they could resume patrol at any time. Prowl said as much to Jazz.

"Do you want to leave, though?" Jazz asked.

Prowl shook his head and leaned a shoulder against his lover's. "Not just yet."

"Me neither."

They stood there, hand-in-hand, and watched the rain together.


	6. An Open Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during Chapter 22 of last year's October Writing Challenge, [Senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161692/chapters/39048046), where Prowl has been unwillingly turned into a vampire, though you can read this without having read that. A few key tags for that one are:
> 
> _Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Sexual Metaphors, Vampire Turning, Recovery, Assault_
> 
> and they apply to this chapter as well along with:
> 
> _Flashbacks_
> 
> and
> 
> _Friendship, Lullabies, Singing, Comfort, Healing_

Prowl awoke in the middle of the night, fuel pump racing, a phantom pain burning his throat. His pillow was lying on the floor, and he stared at it for a long moment, wondering how it had gotten there and why.

Oh. He had knocked it off the bed while thrashing in his recharge cycle. Of course. Rung had explained to him that might happen. Prowl should pick it up.

He didn't. The room was dark, though not as dark as it would have been before the alterations the vampire code had made to his systems had boosted his night vision. Certainly not as dark as the underground acid rain shelter where he had been…changed. Prowl knew it was irrational to fear he'd be assaulted again if he moved, to fear his assailant was in the room. He was alone in his borrowed officer's quarters, secure in Autobase Iacon, safe behind locks, surrounded by warriors and a system designed to detect intruders. His fuel pump had accelerated in response to no tangible threat. The phantom pain was just that, not a result of fangs having freshly torn through his mesh to drain his energon to the point of death.

Prowl cycled his cooling systems once, twice, and forced himself to lie back down, slowly, resting his head on his bent arm. He went through a meditative exercise that at least succeeded in returning his pump to its regular rate but couldn't sleep again. While he couldn't remember details of the nightmare - or flashback - he'd experienced, Prowl was sure it was of the attack that had resulted in his current…condition.

_The shape of his attacker, too strong for their size and structure, above him holding him down. A mouth, too warm, against his throat. Pain. Weakness._

Prowl's memories were fragmented or too badly corrupted to be recovered after that, until he onlined again, damaged and desperately hungry but unable to keep his emergency rations in-system. He had not known then that he needed energon from the lines of living mecha. Not until after he'd been rescued and refuelled and had his new status explained to him. The information had been distressing to receive, and Prowl was still uncomfortable with it, even though the energon he drank now had been donated by freely consenting volunteers who knew where it was going.

Jazz had found an opaque cube for him. It helped.

Jazz had done a lot of other things for him, but the main ones were simply being comforting and supportive. Prowl had come to rely on the other mech's understanding and empathy – true empathy in Jazz's case. Jazz's vampirism took the form of feeding on emotions through some sort of energy transfer, and he only did so with mecha who had consented to him doing so beforehand. Jazz had given Prowl an open invitation to contact him for any reason, at any time, and Prowl was careful not to abuse it.

Still, after lying there for nearly a cycle unable to quiet his mind and sleep, Prowl relented. He sent a soft ping, one that wouldn't wake Jazz up if he were sleeping, hoping that his friend was up. Not two nano-kliks passed before Jazz's comm came in.

'_Nightmare or just sleeplessness, Prowler?_'

The warm, raspy voice made Prowl relax almost instantly. The lingering feeling of danger eased.

'_Both_,_ I'm afraid,_' Prowl replied. '_I'm surprised but not displeased that you're still up._'

'_I do like to stay up late. I was just fooling around on my little chordophone here._'

Prowl found himself smiling. '_Your lap harp._'

'_Heh. Yep. Can't fool you with the fancy words, can I? Yeah, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic, was playing some of the songs I learned as a kid. One of the ones my 'Fex used to use to sing me to sleep. Wanna hear? Might help you calm down, if not get you back to sleep._'

'_You're very kind,_' Prowl told him, meaning it. '_Yes, I would._'

_ ''Kay. I'll turn up the gain on my mic so you can hear the harp, too. It's an important part of the song I wanna play you.' _Jazz's tone softened. '_You can fall asleep while I sing, Prowler, it's okay._'

'_Thank you, Jazz._' Prowl didn't mean just for the song, or the permission to fall asleep. He was sure Jazz understood that.

'_No problem, Prowler. You need the rest so you can heal up._'

'_My systems are nearly back to one hundred percent.'_

_'Yeah, those too._' Jazz must have increased the gain on his microphone already because Prowl could hear him gently strumming the harp in the background. '_You need to get comfy or are you ok for me to start?_'

_'Please, start._'

Jazz began to sing softly. Prowl reached down and picked up the pillow.


	7. Disturbance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Very loud

Very loud footsteps walked across the floor of the apartment above Prowl's. _Again_. Prowl looked up at his ceiling and frowned in annoyance. He was trying to study, but his upstairs neighbour kept thumping back and forth. There was _no_ soundproofing in this building, but the rent was cheap, and the few other tenants he saw were quiet. It was just this one that kept interrupting him. There wasn't even anything to be done about it because it was outside the quiet hours and so Prowl would just have to deal with it. Sighing, he shut his audio receptors off and turned back to the rather dense, even for him, textbook on forensic CNA typing, determined to maintain his high grades even in that challenging course.

Prowl resolutely ignored his inconsiderate neighbour for several cycles more, until one night when they were particularly persistent. When it sounded like furniture was being moved, Prowl had had enough. Irritated, he placed a call to the building superintendent, planning to have them tell his noisy fellow tenant to keep it down but there was no answer. A call to the Enforcers would be justified since it was nearly the end of the third shift, but Prowl knew full well that it would take a while to get officers to the scene for a minor call like that. He could go himself, but he had no way to make the tenant quiet down if they didn't want to, no threat of eviction or fine if they kept being so - it sounded like a table was knocked over - so _fragging loud_!

Perhaps the superintendent was home but simply not answering. Prowl couldn't rest anyway, so he got up and headed down the short hallway to the super's apartment. The building was an old one, a large house that had been broken up into several small apartments. Prowl could hear the thumping from upstairs even as he walked away from his own unit. It looked like he wasn't the only one who'd been annoyed by the noise and may not have gotten an answer when comming the superintendent. Prowl didn't know the mech's name, but they seemed to be a musician of some kind. Prowl had never heard them practicing - probably they were jacked into the instrument, so at least some of his neighbours were considerate - but he'd seen them carrying what looked like an oversized guitar-case.

The mech glanced over at Prowl, optic band dimmed around the edges from fatigue. "You too, huh? Did you try comming?"

"Yes, and no response," Prowl replied.

The other mech muttered something uncomplimentary and banged on the door again. "Wheelwing! Do your fragging job already!"

They waited for a half-klik more and then the other mech shook his head in irritation and turned to Prowl.

"Look, Wheelwing ain't answering, the cops will take forever, and I gotta get some rest tonight. I'm going up there myself. You coming with?"

Prowl didn't want to, but neither did he want this mech going alone. What if something were to happen?

"Very well."

The first ramp up to the second floor had been cleaned relatively recently and the landing less so. The second ramp looked unused, but perhaps there was a second entrance to this level of the building? Prowl couldn't think where it could be, though.

"I'm Jazz, by the way," Prowl's less-annoying neighbour said conversationally. "I would say it's nice to meet you but under the circumstances…"

"Prowl," he replied. "And I agree."

The lights in the second-floor hallway were out, and Jazz lit his headlights to help them see the way. Prowl frowned, made uncomfortable by the unused look and feel of this floor. There was only one door, so clearly this level had been converted into a single apartment over the ones below. That would certainly explain how they'd managed to make enough noise for Prowl and Jazz to hear them.

There was no noise now. Jazz looked at Prowl, seeking reassurance, and then pressed the doorbell. When they didn't hear anything, he knocked instead. The sound echoed oddly, and Jazz frowned.

"Something about the reverb there sounds off," he said. "Dunno quite what."

They both fell silent, listening for any sound from inside the apartment for nearly half a klik.

The outside door downstairs, not set properly in its tracks, rattled harshly open. Prowl started, and Jazz swore loudly.

"Hey, who's up there?" Wheelwing yelled from downstairs. They could hear him on the first ramp almost immediately after.

Prowl went to intercept him, meeting Wheelwing on the landing, Jazz trailing behind him.

"What are you two doing up here at this time of night?" the superintendent demanded.

"The tenant on this floor was making too much noise for the hour," Prowl informed him. "You were unavailable, and Enforcer response protocols would rank a noise complaint with low priority. We came up to ask them to be quieter."

Wheelwing stared at him. "What tenant? There's no one renting this floor, hasn't been for years. Can't get anyone to stay."

"Look, we both heard the noise," Jazz put in. "There's gotta be someone here."

Wheelwing shook his head. "Nope. I'll show you. C'mon."

Wheelwing led them back to the apartment door and unlocked it with a master passcode. The door opened, sullenly, and they could see inside.

Nothing. No inhabitants, no furniture, no turbo-rat or glitch-mouse tracks in the fine layer of dust on the floor. Prowl took a few cautious steps inside to check, but it was clear that the rest of the apartment was just as empty as they could see from the doorway. He retreated and let Wheelwing close and lock the door again.

"See? Nothing. I don't know what you heard, but it wasn't up here," Wheelwing said, sounding a little cross. "Out, I'm going to lock up and go to bed, and you should do the same."

"Yeah," Jazz said, staring at the empty apartment as the door closed. "Right. Sure. Thanks, I guess."

All three made their way downstairs, and Wheelwing vanished into hi apartment without so much as a good-night. The noises from upstairs were gone, at least. Prowl and Jazz, alone on the first floor, looked at each other. Jazz spoke first.

"Well, that was creepy. I'd move, but I can't afford anywhere better on my own."

Prowl was in the same situation and said as much.

"Want a roommate?" Jazz offered. "Meeting over a creepy apartment's gotta be a step up from an ad on Cogslist."

"Moving does sound quite appealing at the moment," Prowl admitted. "But maybe we should discuss it once we've had some rest. May I give you my comm code?"

"Sure thing."

They exchanged codes and stood there, awkwardly, for a few nano-kliks.

"Well, I should go for the night, I suppose," Prowl said finally. "We can discuss things further tomorrow, perhaps?"

"Sounds good," Jazz agreed. "I'll be off for my beauty sleep, then. Ping me a time, I'm pretty flexible, schedule-wise."

"Certainly. Good evening, Jazz," Prowl said. "I hope the rest of your night is quiet."

Jazz laughed a little. "Yeah, me too! And yours. Have a quiet night, maybe-roomie, and I'll see you tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a little creepiness for Friday the 13th. :)


	8. Daydreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 - Anywhere in the world

Jazz, who loved to watch the city at night, sprawled back, head in Prowl's lap, and gazed out the balcony doors at the lights of Praxus. Prowl's creators and sibling were gone for the evening, and Prowl and Jazz had the apartment to themselves. Prowl liked having Jazz's weight holding him down, and so he didn't object to being used as a pillow. He put a hand on Jazz's chest and smiled when the other mech laced their fingers together.

"Hey, Prowler," Jazz asked. "If you could go anywhere on Cybertron, where would you go?"

Prowl had played this game with Bluestreak when they were younger, and he gave the same answer now. "The Coruscating Caverns below the Limbranite Tundra. They have crystals there that won't grow anywhere else on Cybertron, even the Helix Gardens."

"Yeah?" Jazz sounded genuinely interested. "I've never been there either. 'Kay, I'll put that one on the list."

"List?"

"Mhm. Of the places we're gonna go together one day." Jazz played idly with Prowl's hand, lacing and unlacing their fingers. "Not just places on Cybertron, either."

Prowl was already running scenarios in his head. "How would we afford the time and costs?"

"Hey," Jazz interrupted gently. "Play. We're just playing, babe. Don't need to plan it all out."

"Oh. Of course." Prowl knew he could get too involved in planning, too caught up in minutiae. "My apologies."

Jazz kissed the back of Prowl's hand. "No need, lover. I know how you can get lost inside your own processor. And _you _know your smarts and analytical abilities are just two of the things I love about you."

Prowl relaxed. "I love you, too." He paused for a couple of nano-kliks. "Where would you like to go?"

"Me? It's a tie between Harmonex and Velocitron."

Prowl found himself smiling. Of course, Jazz wouldn't want to choose between music and speed. "We could visit Harmonex first, then loop over the pole to go to the Caverns on our way to the spaceport."

"There you go!" Jazz sounded pleased and proud. "D'you wanna take a fast ship or a slow cruise to Velocitron?"

"Slow cruise," Prowl decided. "One of the expensive ones that's like a space-borne hotel."

"With room service and spas?"

Prowl wasn't particularly interested in spas, but this was a fantasy, so there was no reason _not _to include it.

"Both," he agreed. "And an oil bath in the cabin."

"Mmm." Jazz nuzzled gently against Prowl's thigh. "I could spend a whole cycle with you in an oil bath."

"Then we will," Prowl said, because why not in a fantasy? "We'll order in a gourmet breakfast and then spend the rest of the cycle in the oil bath."

Jazz laughed. "Sounds good to me, babe." They both fell silent for a moment, then Jazz spoke again. "Hey, Prowler?"

"Yes, love?"

"Even if we never get to do any of that, I'm still happy to be here with you."

Prowl smiled and squeezed his hand. "So am I."


	9. Enlistment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9: Stars

There were stars out that night. That was what he remembered when he thought about the time before the attack; stars in the sky over Staniz, something rare in the industrial city. Then the attack came, and the stars were hidden by smoke and confusion and terror. By pure chance, he'd been in one of the less targeted areas of the city, a minor factory. A lot of other mecha hadn't been so lucky.

He didn't get out, though, or at least not all the way. Part of the building came down, and he was pinned between a girder and the rubble. The last thing he remembered was Seekers arrowing through the sooty sky above.

The next thing he saw was the sky again, covered with a layer of smog that looked different from usual. Slender columns of smoke still rose from the ruins of the city. There was no breeze; they went straight up. He thought he could see the fires in his peripheral vision, but he hurt, and he didn't want to move in case that made the pain worse. He didn't consult his chronometer to see how long he'd been asleep- didn't want to, didn't dare. Besides, damage reports and low-fuel warnings had crowded it off his HUD, even his autonomic systems having decided it was a low priority. He couldn't move, couldn't fuel, and couldn't repair himself. Shutting down again seemed like a good idea, and so he did.

It was much the same the second time he woke. The smog was thinner. Everything was silent. He could see a moon and his fuel readings were slightly lower. He was aware that he couldn't drop much further without going into stasis lock. He shut down again, not so much to put stasis off but because it didn't seem like there was much else to do.

The third time he woke the stars were back, distant and beautiful in a nearly-clear sky. The fires must have been out, or nearly so because he couldn’t see the columns of smoke anymore. There was sound, now, though. He could hear mecha moving through the wreckage, calling out. He tried to call out himself, but he couldn't get enough volume. He twitched his fingers. Maybe he could shift some rubble, attract attention- if these were even the kind of mecha whose attention he wanted to draw. He was near stasis lock, but there were worse things than stasis.

Footsteps crunched closer, a shape moving into his peripheral vision. Winged? He couldn't tell.

A mech looked down at him, seeming surprised to find him functioning, however poorly, then knelt.

"Don't be afraid. I've commed for help," the mech said. "I'm with the Autobots. We're conducting search-and-rescue operations in this area. A team will be here shortly to free you and provide medical attention. Can you tell me your name?"

"Jazz," he managed. "I'm Jazz."

"Hello, Jazz. I'm Prowl." Prowl put a hand on Jazz's shoulder. "Don't be afraid. You'll be safe soon."

Prowl stayed with him while the rescue team cut him free of the rubble that had pinned him, and while the medic patched his wounds and refuelled him. Jazz lost track of Prowl while he was moved to the temporary hospital and shelter the Autobots had set up on what had been the city's commons. Jazz's wounds were relatively minor, and his biggest problem was lack of fuel, so he wound up low on the priority list. He had been under the rubble for cycles and was just grateful to have fuel, painkillers, and a place to rest, even if it was only a cot in a tent. He didn't see Prowl again for several cycles, by which point he was almost physically healed and getting restless.

The next time Jazz saw Prowl was when he was sneaking back into the tent after getting bored and deciding to go see what was happening, for the third time. It seemed like Staniz was a lost cause, but Jazz had never had strong feelings of affection for his home city anyway. He was saddened, yes, but not devastated.

Jazz had always gotten in and out successfully before. The only reason he got caught this time was that Prowl was standing in Jazz's space, which consisted of his bed and a bit of space on either side, blocked off by flimsy privacy dividers.

The first thing Prowl said to him was, "that wasn't the first time you've been out, was it?"

"Nope," Jazz answered cautiously. "I just…get a bit bored lying around here, y'know?"

"No," Prowl replied with what Jazz would come to know as his usual blunt honestly. "So. You've managed to get out of a secure area, give yourself a tour of the camp, and get back in without being detected how many times?"

"Got out and took a look around three times, only got caught this once," Jazz told him, unsure where this was going. "That's just 'cause you were standing here all quiet already."

"Mm. I see."

"You gonna arrest me or something?" Jazz asked.

"No," Prowl said. "I'm going to have you enlist and work as an operative. For me."

"What, like an Autobot spy?"

"Not 'like,'" Prowl corrected. "Exactly that."

"And you seem pretty sure I'll go for it."

"It involves regular rations, the use of your skills, and," Prowl glanced around, "solid walls. Will you join?"

Jazz thought about it. His home was destroyed, most of his friends and family had been killed in the attack. He'd spent cycles under what had been his job, which he'd never exactly been into anyway, so there was no going back there. He didn't see himself being too enthusiastic about the Autobots either, but it wasn't like anyone was stepping up to make him a better offer now, was it?

Jazz shrugged. "Alright, sure. Ain't like I've got anything to lose, not anymore. That good enough?"

"I've heard worse reasons," Prowl said drily. "Welcome to the Autobots, Jazz."


	10. Gratitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 - Forgotten

"This place isn't on the map," Jazz observed. "Ain't on the schematic of the old base, either, and I don't remember ever coming down here, do you?"

"No," Prowl said. "It's not one of the old black sites." He traced his fingers over the scratched, rusted, metal tile of the walls. "It's not part of the old base. It's older. Beachcomber's team reported evidence of a recent collapse of a sublayer in this area. It must have opened this area up."

"Yeah, makes sense," Jazz agreed. "Feel like a little sub-urban exploration, lover?"

"It's important to map as much of the area as possible."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then. C'mon!"

Jazz continued down the dark, ancient, hallway and Prowl followed. There were no lights, and they turned their headlights on, switching to high beams.

"It was well-maintained, once," Prowl observed. "I don't recognize the Age, though."

"Yeah, me neither. It's gotta be early, though, this far down." Flakes of rust swirled in their wake, around their feet. "There's a lot of rust and dirt, too. It's been abandoned for a long time."

"I wonder why. We know energon was available here until well into the Rust Age."

Jazz shrugged. "Maybe it just got built over, used less and less." He threw a grin over his shoulder. "Maybe it's haunted."

"Jazz. There's no such thing as ghosts or demons."

"Oh, I didn't say anything about those. There are supposed to be worse things down here, y'know. _Nickel, iron, cobalt chrome…_"

Prowl sighed fondly. "You're impossible. There aren't sparkeaters down here either."

"What, because you don’t believe in sparkeaters?"

"Because they most likely would have starved into stasis with no mecha to prey on after all this time."

"Wait, wait, wait." Jazz stopped. "You don't believe in ghosts or demons, but you believe in _sparkeaters_?"

"While I've never seen evidence sufficient to convince me of the existence of ghosts or demons, several first-hand accounts of mecha who claim to have survived encounters with sparkeaters are quite compelling."

Jazz snapped around to look at him. "Seriously, mech?"

Prowl grinned. "Got you."

Jazz laughed and reached for his hand. "You've been hanging out with me too long, babe."

"No, that's a statistical impossibility. I've calculated it."

Jazz was still chuckling. "Of course you have."

But Prowl didn't respond with more teasing. "Jazz. Turn your headlights off." Prowl switched his off as well, and they waited a few nano-kliks for their optics to adjust. "There."

Jazz looked in the direction Prowl pointed and saw a gleam of light near the floor in the distance as if it were coming from beneath a door.

"Either someone's down here," Jazz murmured. "Or some poor mech's in for one hell of a power bill after four million years."

They went to check it out, weapons at the ready. Prowl covered the door while Jazz cracked the door locks. When it opened the door sounded like it had been closed for millions of years, but the light inside was clear and bright. There was a slight breeze, probably thanks to the pressure equalizing, and motes of rust drifted through the air toward them, disturbed by the movement. The room had been a laboratory of some sort, but it was clearly abandoned, lights or no lights.

"It must somehow still be connected to one of the power grids Grapple, and Hoist have just gotten up and running," Prowl theorized. "The lights won't have been on all this time, they've just come back up because their power has been restored."

"Yeah, makes sense." Jazz was searching the room, carefully examining each counter, shelf, and cupboard. "Probably a lot of weird interconnected stuff like that down here. Looks like they just closed the place down and walked away, was probably decommissioned and never taken off the grid."

"That's reasonable," Prowl agreed, following Jazz at enough distance to cover him if something did happen.

"Still creepy though."

"Yes. But not haunted," Prowl reminded him.

"Nope." Jazz subspaced his weapon and Prowl followed suit. "Not haunted. Guess we can go back and report on what we've found. There're probably rooms beyond this, but I want a team to check it out for safety before anyone goes any further."

"A wise precaution," Prowl agreed.

They headed back to the surface and, just as they crossed the threshold, the laboratory lights went out. They paused.

"Must've shorted," Jazz said finally.

"Yes, or the grid it was connected to has gone or been taken offline." But it was now pitch-black in the hallway, and even Cybertronian optics needed _some _light to work with. Prowl switched his headlights back on.

They stared at the wall. There, as if a finger had just inscribed it in the grime, was a single glyph: _gratitude._

"But I don't got anything that explains that," Jazz said quietly. "I know that wasn't there when we went in, was it Prowler?"

Prowl shook his head slowly. "It was not."

"Yeah, didn't think so. C'mon, let's get back to the surface and report." Jazz put a hand on Prowl's arm, grounding him against the unexpected, illogical, and inexplicable. "Only thing I can think of to explain that is a ghost and I don't want to find out what else might be hanging around down here that isn't supposed to exist."

"Nor do I."

They returned to the surface and didn't look back.


	11. Taking Charge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 - Out of control  
\---  
A missing scene from last year's October Writing Challenge, in [Senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161692/chapters/39048046), where Prowl has been unwillingly turned into a vampire, though you can read this without having read that. A few key tags for that one are:
> 
> Trauma, Sexual Metaphors, Vampire Turning, Recovery
> 
> and they apply to this chapter as well, though the trauma's in the past, along with: 
> 
> Kissing, Comfort, Healing, Cunnlingus, Oral Sex, Face-Sitting, Valve Oral (Transformers), Cowgirl Position, Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Overloads, Cuddling & Snuggling, (Transformers)

Prowl had been feeling a loss of control of his own structure since he had learned that his attack by an unknown assailant had resulted in not only physical damage but irreversible changes. Prowl wasn't a superstitious mech, he didn't believe in things that couldn't be proven, but even he could no longer argue that vampires weren't real. Not after having been turned into one. As much as he would have liked to disbelieve, the physiological changes - micro-transformations for his fingers to become clawed and his teeth to become fangs - and the dependency on the energon of living mecha were irrefutable. Prowl found the need to drink fuel that came from another person disturbing but as much as he disliked it, the feral state that came with near-starvation was…worse. Much worse. His higher functions would shut down, and he would be driven by instinct to hunt and kill and feed, nothing more than instinct and violence. Prowl abhorred the thought of returning to that state more than the thought of drinking living fuel. Prowl tried not to think about it, telling himself when he couldn't avoid it that at least his fuel came from consenting volunteers.

It was…difficult, very, but he worked diligently with his therapist and relied on the support of Jazz, the mech who had first been assigned as a guide but had soon become a friend. Jazz was also a vampire, but one who had been brought online that way and who fed, through a process Prowl was unclear on, upon emotions. Jazz, unlike the vampire who had turned Prowl, fed on no one who hadn't provided prior consent. He had never asked to feed on Prowl, perhaps understanding instinctively that Prowl would not want him to.

Prowl enjoyed Jazz's company, and he liked and trusted the mech. He found Jazz charming, and even attractive although Jazz was not the kind of mech Prowl usually found himself attracted to. Still, he was taken enough to make an attempt at flirtation. It was the night before Prowl was set to head back to Praxus and he and Jazz were in one of the small cafés that remained open near the Autobase. To his relief, Jazz was receptive, if careful.

“What’re you looking for here, Prowler?" the other mech asked. "Little flirtation or something more?” Jazz’s visor shaded just a little bit darker. “Won’t say no if you want something more. Testing yourself, friendly tumble before you head out, or a promise for later. All the options are good.”

“I’m not sure,” Prowl admitted. “I would like…I would like to see where this goes, tonight. I trust you.”

“I’m flattered,” Jazz said quietly, meaning it. “More than. Alright then, let’s see where it goes.”

It went back to Jazz’s place. They had spent hours at the café, which was open ‘round the mega-cycle, interest and flirtation gradually ramping up until Prowl was ready to attempt the next step.

As soon as they were in the Autobot's quarters, Jazz drew Prowl in close, leaning in for a kiss. However, the sound of the door hissing closed made Prowl’s nervousness spike, and he hesitated instead of accepting the kiss.

“Prowl?” Jazz asked, leaning back and looking him in the face. He kept his arms around Prowl, but relaxed now, not pulling away but not expressing desire either. “Talk to me, mech.”

“Only nerves,” Prowl assured him. “You still have my consent. But I am unused to intimate relationships, and I’m concerned about my reactions to interfacing, given the parallels to my assault. I may have to stop and attempt again at a different time.”

Jazz nodded. “Got it. Expected you to say something like that. It’s okay, Prowl. Whatever your call here, I’m good with it.” He smiled. “You’re really worth waiting for, y’know?”

“I – “ Prowl was good with data, logic, structure. Emotions and praise received for being himself, less so.

“We can talk about that later,” Jazz promised, sensing Prowl’s discomfort. “In the meantime, before we get started here, is there anything you don’t want?” He slipped a hand down Prowl’s back but kept away from anything sensitive.

“No restraints, no being held down,” Prowl relayed. Providing structure for an interaction helped to ground him. “No contact with my throat. I may react poorly to having you above me if it happens, but I’m unsure of that.”

“I’ll avoid it unless you ask for it,” Jazz promised. “As for reacting poorly, it’s okay if you do. I get it. You wanna be in charge?” Jazz had said that teasingly to lovers dozens of times before, but this time he was earnest. “Think I’d like that, actually.”

Prowl felt tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying relax. “Yes.”

“Awesome.” Jazz grinned. “Just tell me where you want me then, Prowler.”

“With me,” Prowl answered, sliding his hands down Jazz’s sides. “Just…with me.”

“Gladly, lover.”

Prowl let Jazz lead them over to the bed, but when it came to laying down on it, he hesitated. Jazz sat down - Prowl didn't fail to notice how this made him seem smaller and less threatening - and took Prowl's hands.

"Tell me what you want, Prowl," Jazz said quietly, looking up. "Anything."

"I'm not sure what I want," Prowl admitted. "It's been some time since I've interfaced and, as I said, I'm unused to intimate relationships."

"Okay. Can I tell you what I'd like to do?" Jazz waited for Prowl to say 'yes' before he continued. "I'd like to make out for a bit - kissing and some tactile - to help you relax and then I'd like to have you sit on my face so I can eat you out and bring you off. Want to?"

Prowl's vocalizer clicked a couple of times before he managed to reply. "I-I would, yes."

Jazz's mouth and hands were gentle on Prowl, and Prowl was soon enough at ease that he was smiling into their kisses.

"That's good, baby?" Jazz murmured, mouth sweet against Prowl's. Prowl moaned in response. "Yeah. You ready to move on?"

Prowl's imagination promptly ran away with him, visualizing what Jazz's mouth would feel like on his valve. His armour was ready to open on its own without too much more stimulation. Prowl wasn't sure how he felt about that but firmly put the thought that it was more loss of control over his own body out of his mind. Opening automatically for a lover was simply part of a choice he'd already made, something he could cancel if he wanted to. He could tell Jazz to stop, sure of the other mech's compliance, if he wanted to. He didn't.

"I am," Prowl said, but held on to Jazz when the other mech started to lie back. "I-I have been told that I…squirm, quite a bit, though."

Jazz smiled and lay back. "No problem, lover. I like that. I _want_ to make you dance for me. C'mere."

If it had been some time since Prowl had interfaced, it had been longer since he'd used this position. He couldn't see his lover, hidden below his bumper and held between his thighs, all he could know of them like this was touch and sound.

That was all he'd known of the vampire that had turned him, too, the last time he'd had another structure so close to his. Prowl tensed before he could catch himself.

'_Prowl? You need to stop?_'

'_No._' No, Prowl was going to enjoy this. He would replace the negative association with one of pleasure and giving. Prowl braced his arms against the wall and leaned forward onto them, angling himself to give Jazz better access to his node once his panel opened. '_I don't want to stop. I want to dance for you._'

Prowl's armour opened of its own accord almost as soon as Jazz kissed it and very soon Prowl's doubts were forgotten, along with most coherent thought. He leaned against the wall, shuddered and moaned while his valve was delicately explored, breached by his lover's tongue - only after Jazz asked permission - and his node licked and kissed and sucked upon. Despite his arousal it took some time for him to climax, but Jazz was patient- and, from the sounds he was making, enjoying himself thoroughly as well.

'_I can give you more,_' Jazz told him after his first overload, sounding pleasure-drunk even over comms. '_Let me give you more. Please?_'

"_Yes_," Prowl said, out loud and over comms, an answer and an order that Jazz seemed delighted to obey. Pleasure was a welcome buzz through his systems, charge flickering through his tensors and cables. Despite his overload, Prowl was still aroused, was feeling connected to himself for the first time in a long time, and he wanted _more_.

Prowl straightened and stopped hiding against the wall, using it instead to brace himself so he could rock down onto his lover's fantastic mouth. Jazz gave him overload after overload until Prowl's node was too sensitive and he pulled away, valve trying to close around a spike that wasn't there.

"Damn, Prowler!" Jazz gasped, 'spacing a cloth to clean himself up - Prowl had made a bit of a mess of him but couldn't be sorry. "Just…damn. Not stopping on my account, are you? 'Cause I can keep going."

"I want you inside me," Prowl said to him, crawling backward the length of his lover's torso while Jazz told him he was gorgeous. "I want to ride you."

Jazz shuddered, spike already out and pressurized. "Primus, yes!"

Prowl bent and claimed a kiss, then reached down to guide Jazz into his wet, waiting valve and began to slide down. Jazz put his hands lightly on Prowl's hips, and Prowl, wanting still more, caught them and pushed them to touch more firmly, guiding them up to play with his headlights.

"Yeah, that's good," Jazz murmured, quivering between Prowl's thighs. "I was right, I like you in charge."

"I needed it," Prowl admitted, gasping a little as he settled with Jazz fully seated within him. "Needed…this."

"Thought you might. _Primus_, that's - go on, Prowler. Take what you need, however you need it. We've got all night. All night," Jazz repeated, looking up into Prowl's optics with warmth and affection in his expression. With _want_.

Prowl was struck with the sudden thought that he could ask Jazz to feed on him, make sure the other mech truly knew what he was feeling, but - no, that was a step too far. The thought of it, even though Jazz would only do so with consent and Prowl wouldn't feel anything taken, was too much right now. Instead, he lifted one of his lover's hands, kissed the palm gently, and began to move.

Prowl rode his lover slowly at first, trying to find what would get the most response. He wasn't in a hurry. He found it while leaning over and braced on Jazz's chest, hips tilted down and back.

"Oh, mech!" Jazz groaned. "Prowler!" His hands rested on Prowl's waist, fingers twitching with the need to grip more tightly, though he held back.

Prowl put a hand over Jazz's, applied a little pressure. "Harder. You can - just a little. There, like that."

"Gotcha." Jazz's thumbs stroked Prowl's sides gently. "Give you whatever you want here, tonight."

Prowl liked the sound of that, but: "What about you? What do you want?"

"Me? I want you. Want to watch you ride me," Jazz's voice was low and throaty now, "just like you're doing now because Primus in the Core that is hot! Want to watch you overload, want to come for you, in you. That okay, Prowl?"

That…being asked that was not something Prowl had known he'd like. "Yes," he said immediately, riding his lover faster, a little harder. "Yes, I'll allow that, Jazz."

"'Allow,'" Jazz echoed. "Frag, you're hot when you take charge, you know that?"

Prowl hadn't, but he liked the feeling it gave him, the confidence. "No. Tell me."

Jazz did, showering him with praise, telling him how good he looked, sounded, felt. Lover's words, yes, but sincere. Prowl curled his fingers into Jazz's grille and kept up a steady pace, driving them both toward overload, focussed in on Jazz's words the whole time.

"Oh, Primus, Prowl," Jazz groaned after even Prowl didn't know how long, hands flexing on Prowl's hips. "So close, gonna…can I…?"

Prowl moaned, on the edge of coming himself. "Yes!"

Prowl held overloading off just long enough to feel Jazz buck and shudder through his own. Then, his climax was on him, and he didn't even try to delay it any further, letting it rush through his systems, lift him up with pure pleasure.

Prowl cried out, curling forward over his lover, and Jazz rose up to meet him.

* * *

"How're you feeling, Prowler?" Jazz murmured afterward, curled up on his side with Prowl in his arms, their structures notched together as best they could.

Prowl had his head resting on Jazz's chest, able to very faintly hear the spin of his spark. He had been feeling content, pleased, but as his systems slowed and his body cooled, he became less sure of what he felt.

"I don't know," Prowl admitted. "I did, but now…Better, I suppose." He could have phrased that more tactfully. "I don't have any regrets about interfacing with you. That I'm certain of."

Jazz kissed the centrepiece of Prowl's chevron. "So am I. Do you want me to tell you it's okay not to know how you feel? Because it is."

"Thank you," Prowl said gratefully. "This hasn't fixed everything, of course, much as I would have liked it to have done."

"'Facing usually doesn’t fix stuff," Jaz agreed, unoffended. He was idly petting at Prowl's back, little touches not meant to arouse. Prowl liked the extra little bits of attention. "It can sometimes help, though, depending on the mech."

Prowl lightly stroked a finger over the grille he'd been clutching not long before. "It helped, yes. Perhaps it won't last," it was too early to say, "but for now, yes. It helped. I'm pleased I chose this."

Jazz kissed the centre of Prowl's chevron again. "So am I, lover."

Prowl had a transport back to Praxus to catch in the morning, a life to get back to, and he knew he should probably go back to his quarters, make one last check of everything. He didn't want to, though. He wanted to stay here, safe and content with a dear friend and lover, as long as he could.

"Jazz," he began, already knowing the question was just a formality. "May I stay the night with you?"

"Yeah, Prowler," Jazz said, hugging Prowl just a little bit closer. "You sure can. I can't think of anything I'd like better right now, in fact."

"No," Prowl said, and let his optics shut off. Jazz was warm and strong, and the quiet hum of his spark's spin was soothing and steady. "Neither can I."


	12. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after [For Love Reforms Vitality](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208604) and before and after [In Every Voice He'd Ever Had](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727542) but if you just want the backstory without reading those, I've dropped a brief overview into the endnotes.

This was home.

The tiny room, meant for one, that Jazz and Prowl shared in the Cybertronian rebel's secret base, hidden from prying Quintession sensors. The narrow bed that barely held both of them, forcing them to lie close together - no hardship for lovers who had been denied contact for most of their lives as slaves to the Quintesssons. After an untold length of time as a Quintesson experiment, Jazz was both touch-starved in the extreme and jumpy. Prowl was more than happy to help with that, holding Jazz close and merging with him for joors. As escaped slaves and part of the rebel forces, attack and capture was a constant danger, but they didn’t dwell on it, especially not when they were together.

This was home.

A new building near the centre of what would one day be the city of Praxus. It was hastily built, plain, and held only the basic amenities. Their furniture was minimal - some chairs, a table, the same narrow bed they'd had as rebels - but would do for now. The Quintessons were gone, the history and culture of Cybertron's people was being retrieved and rediscovered. Jazz had found out about music, and one corner of their house was chaotic with datapads, instruments in various states of repair, and even ancient music written by hand on foil. Prowl was occupied with helping plan and put together security and police forces and tried to keep the crystals from overrunning their little patch of terrace. He kept some trimmings on the windowsills. At night, Jazz would play for Prowl while the light of the setting sun refracted through the crystals and all around the room, and they were content.

This was home.

An apartment in Iacon, centred between the Council Pavilions and the artistic heart of downtown. It wasn't the biggest apartment in the area or even their building, but it was enough for the two of them, even when Jazz threw parties that lasted for cycles. Prowl would simply retreat to his study when he'd had enough, patient as always with his beloved, and secure in the knowledge that Jazz would soon lavish attention on him. They'd sold their house in Praxus to Prowl's good friend Bluestreak, but Prowl had transplanted some of the crystals from their garden to planters, and they thrived on the balcony and in the corners. Jazz took care of them when Prowl was… away and no matter what happened outside, when they were together they were happy.

This was home.

The apartment was gone, but Prowl had seen war coming and secured a space for the in the command bunker of what would become Autobot Headquarters. He had kept himself and Jazz safe, and made sure as many others as he could convince of the danger ahead were as safe as they could be - which, he confided quietly to Jazz, wasn't very. They were warriors again, advising the new Prime as best they could based on their mille-vorns of skill and experience, trying to brace the fledgling army against what was coming. Still, they were among the lucky ones, and they knew it. They still had their crystals, datapads, instruments, and music. They had each other.

This was home.

Compared to the houses and apartments they'd shared over their lives together, their quarters aboard the Ark were cramped, officer's quarters or not. They were bigger than the room they'd shared so very long ago, rebelling against and hiding from the Quintessons, at least. So was the bed, but that didn't mean they didn't still squeeze close together in the night, for pleasure or comfort or just to feel the other near. Earth was a strange, fascinating place, and Jazz explored it with delight while Prowl watched fondly and listened to him for joors on end. Prowl's crystals hadn't survived in the dark while the Ark slept, but Jazz promised to get him new ones as soon as he could and came through with strange new Earth varieties. It wasn't the same, but Prowl managed to grow them anyway, and when Ultra Magnus's crew showed up with precious, fragile, seedlings in stasis, the tactician was ready. It still wasn't the same, underground, but they could angle light through the facets and pretend while Jazz played. It wasn't Cybertron, but they were together.

This was home.

The apartment Jazz had thought of as his and Prowl's for the vorns he'd lived there on his own. He'd looked forward to the mega-cycle Prowl arrived and began to add his personal touches to it. Jazz had even had part of one wall changed to a floor-to-ceiling window, hoping Prowl would grow his crystals in it and he did. Prowl put a rack in front of the window-wall, and his crystal seedlings were evenly spaced on the shelves. He had a knack for coaxing rare and difficult crystals to grow and, despite not intending to work, was soon hired by a few growers to start and nurture particularly tricky strains. It was like what they'd had before the war, and yet it wasn't, the constants the crystals, the love, and themselves.

This was home.

A loving spark twined with his, gentle fingers and warm structures. Kisses and whispered lover's praises, no less true for being spoken in the heat of passion. Words of love, age-old, but never worn.

This was home.

Prowl.

This was home.

Jazz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The backstory is, Jazz is immortal through some fluke of his spark and while Prowl is, technically, mortal he's been reincarnated many, many times, most recently after his death in the shuttle during The Transformers: The Movie (1986).
> 
> Post-war, Jazz is Cybertron's Minister of Culture, Heritage, and Tourism. Prowl meant to be retired but wound up being a well-regarded crystal-hobbyist instead.


	13. Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 - Witness

Getting into the maintenance shafts threaded through the Ark to run cabling for Wheeljack had sounded like a lot more of an adventure three hours ago when he'd proposed it, Carly thought. The shafts were too small for any mech to get through and the maintenance drones Wheeljack said they'd have used once weren't operational yet. A human any taller than Carly would have found the ceiling too low, and even she found it a little uncomfortable in some places. Wheeljack had told Carly it would be pretty straightforward, Ratchet had made sure she had enough water, and she'd gone off into the walls of the Ark, hauling a sled with a reel of cable on it behind her. The cable unreeled automatically as she walked, reeled back up when she needed to backtrack, and the sled wasn't too heavy, but she'd underestimated just _how big_ the Ark was. She had also underestimated how many places millions of years of geological shift would make impassable and had to make a few detours. It was also tricky to get the sled through some areas where rock struck through the shaft but not as much as she'd expected.

Carly was pretty sure the wheels on the sled were just there for guidance. The way it moved was slightly off, and the weight didn't seem right. She hadn't taken a look - yet - but she was reasonably certain it was hovering, although how that worked let alone how the Autobots managed to make whatever powered it so _small_ she didn't know. She didn't think her classes at MIT were going to explain to her either.

Maybe she'd get to teach some though. Maybe. In the future. She wasn't sure yet if teaching was something she wanted to do, but Professor Carly Brooks-Spencer did have a nice ring to it.

Still, the technological mysteries, difficulties, and exertion aside, it _was _interesting to get this view of the Ark. There were hatches in some parts of the shafts that had once let the maintenance drones in and out to do their work, at least in the unsecured areas, and some of them were stuck partly or entirely open. Mostly she got views of feet, but sometimes the floor of the deck above had gotten pushed below the ceiling of the one below, and she could look down.

Optimus Prime and Ironhide were in the common room playing some sort of holographic game that looked like the three-dimensional chess from Star Trek crossed with Battleship. Small simulated explosions were occasionally involved, and she had absolutely no idea who was winning or if they were even playing against each other or the game itself.

Beachcomber and Perceptor knelt across from each other in their shared quarters, hands on their respective thighs, and a soft light on the floor between them. Meditating? It wasn't a surprise to find that Beachcomber meditated but that Perceptor did too was a bit of a surprise.

Bluestreak was leaning forward over the back of a chair, Hound standing behind him doing some maintenance on his back. Bluestreak was talking, in Cybertronian of course, clicking and electronic chirring. Whatever he said, it made Hound laugh and Bluestreak threw a smile back over his shoulder.

Mirage was busy painting a wall of his quarters, putting fine detail on the sweeping curves and blocks of colour that already decorated the walls. Something like a mobile or wind chime hung in one corner, made of coloured glass and Mirage paused once to touch one of the pieces, looking wistful.

Prowl and Jazz were in one of the small conference rooms, Prowl holding something that he was using like a computer but was smaller and flatter than anything Carly immediately recognized as such and seemed to be operated by the screen. Jazz was perched on the table, leaning forward and smiling. Prowl shook his head, and Jazz leaned a little closer and said something in a lower voice. Prowl gave a short laugh and put the impossibly flat computer on the table, reaching up to -

Oh! To put a hand on the back of Jazz's head and pull him down into a kiss. Not a short one either. _Oh. _Carly froze, startled. Oh, sure, she knew the Autobots had friendships, knew they had emotions and were capable of platonic love. But somehow it had _completely_ slipped her mind that they might have romantic relationships as well. Jazz had Prowl's jaw cupped in his hands now, kissing him with obvious desire and there wasn't any question in Carly's mind that yes, romance was totally a thing Autobots had. One of Jazz's hands, blocked from Carly's view by Prowl's body, moved down and did something that made Prowl give a crooning electronic sound Carly immediately mapped over to 'human' as a moan.

Oh, God, she shouldn’t be watching this! This was private.

Prowl moaned again, and Jazz said something that was obviously suggestive, alien language or not. Prowl kissed the centre of Jazz's hood, nuzzled his cheek against it, looked up and answered in a soft voice unlike any Carly had heard him use before.

She really, _really_, shouldn't be watching this, but she couldn't move forward while Jazz and Prowl were… engaged with each other. But Wheeljack needed this errand done by a specific time, and she'd already had to make a few unplanned detours. There had to be more ahead and if she backtracked she'd lose even more time but if she crossed in front of the maintenance hatch Prowl and Jazz might learn she was there. Carly didn't think she could pretend she hadn't seen anything if they caught her while they were mid-makeout session. _Hideously awkward _didn't begin to describe how that encounter would go, she just knew it.

There was the sound of metal on metal as Jazz caressed Prowl again, obviously meaning to arouse him and go further than just making out. Carly hurriedly backed up a little before her curiosity could get the better of her. She snagged a water bottle off the sled, quickly heading back to a point where she could sort-of announce her presence and dropped the bottle.

"Oh, shoot!" she exclaimed, hoping that summer drama camp lessons when she was twelve would be enough to make her seem believable. The metal-on-metal sounds and the electronic moans stopped. Carly scooped up her water bottle and had unscrewed the cap just as a blue visor peered through the gap between maintenance hatch and floor.

Carly didn't have to fake her start of surprise. A little water slopped over her hand, and she hoped that would help sell things as well.

"Jazz!" she exclaimed, drying her hand off on her jeans. "You startled me!"

"Hey, Carly," Jazz said. The visor made it hard for her to tell exactly where he was looking, but she felt she was being watched carefully. "Didn't realize you were coming through this way."

"There's more damage than Wheeljack thought there would be," she explained truthfully. "I had to make a few detours."

"Yeah, okay. Everything going good on the experiment besides that?" Jazz paused for Carly's 'yes' and seemed to be satisfied. "Alright, then. I'll let you get back to work. See you 'round, Carly."

"Sure! Bye, Jazz!"

Jazz dropped back out of sight, and Carly took a long drink of water to settle her nerves. The conference room doors swished open and then shut again as she passed the hatch and her shoulders slumped in relief. It seemed like Jazz had believed her and at least if he hadn't it seemed like he wasn't going to bring it up. Well, neither was Carly: admitting she'd accidentally been peeping would be just as bad as getting caught.

If she ever found herself wondering what she would have seen if she'd kept watching, well, Carly Brooks-Spencer was keeping that to herself.


	14. Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 - Small Things  
\---  
References some events from [ Five Times Jazz Watched Prowl's Family from Outside & The Time He Was Invited to Join It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281322) but you can follow it without having read that.

"What was it that interested you in me at first?" Prowl asked Jazz, on their third (official) date, hanging out in Jazz's quarters. "Did it start the night you escorted Bluestreak home?"

Jazz had found Prowl's adopted creation mid-panic-attack, alone in a public area, one night and helped the young mech home. That had been the first time Prowl and Jazz had really spoken, as opposed to Jazz being among a group Prowl was giving orders to.

"Oh, way before that," Jazz said, leaning against the back of the couch they were sitting on and gazing at Prowl. "It started a long time before that, back early on when I was just assigned here. You came into the mess, and I saw you smile."

"I apologize," Prowl said, "I've no memory of that."

"Nah, you didn't see me," Jazz told him. "You were talking to Bluestreak."

And Jazz's table-mates had been talking about Prowl, disdainful gossip to the effect that Prowl had to be a cold and distant creator. Jazz had been watching Prowl and Bluestreak and had known that was wrong just by the way they interacted. It had been Bluestreak Prowl had been smiling at, but Jazz hadn't failed to notice the warmth of the mech's expression.

"There were a lot of other things, too," Jazz continued. "I mean, apart from you being a damn good looking mech." Prowl, not good with compliments, glanced away shyly. "You're a good parent. You're smart, you're capable, you're confident when you take charge of a room. You care."

"That's not what most mecha say about me," Prowl said, looking back at Jazz. "About my caring."

"You spend a lot of time working to keep those mecha alive, for someone who doesn't care about them," Jazz pointed out. "I don't think you're cold. I never have."

"Thank you. It's difficult for me to express emotions sometimes," Prowl said quietly. "I didn't know you saw me that well."

"Well, I've been looking," Jazz admitted.

"I'm flattered."

"So, what made you interested in me?" Jazz asked in turn.

"You were kind to my child," Prowl said simply, "and that is not a small thing. You could have left him because his panic was uncomfortable to deal with, you could have called me which would have addressed the panic but only with a delay, or you could have summoned Medical or Security to escort him home."

"Some mecha could have," Jazz countered, remembering the shaking, panicking youngster he'd found one night. "Not me."

Prowl smiled. "I know that now. Bluestreak is - when he's doing well he's easy to deal with and when he's not some people find him… taxing."

Hard to deal with because he was jumpy and talking at a rapid-fire pace, Prowl meant. Jazz reached out and took Prowl's hand.

"Bluestreak's been through a lot," Jazz said. "So have you."

Jazz didn't specify Praxus. He didn't have to.

"Yes. It hasn't been easy," Prowl admitted. "For either of us. But we've had each other, and that has helped a great deal."

Jazz put out an arm to let Prowl know he could move in for a hug. It took the tactician a moment to recognize what was being offered, but once he did he came into Jazz's embrace readily, putting his head down on the saboteur's chest. Jazz hadn't thought Prowl was tense at all until he felt him relax, and wondered how long it had been since anyone, other than Bluestreak, had shown the mech affection.

"And now you've got me," Jazz said softly. His arms tightened around Prowl. "Both of you."


	15. On the Good Mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 - Early morning

The general idea around the Ark, just like it had been at the last Autobase on Cybertron, seemed to be that Prowl only recharged when he absolutely had to and that he woke back up like a switch being flicked. Very few knew the truth about Prowl's rest habits and Jazz was privileged enough to be one of them.

Contrary to popular belief, Prowl did power down regularly. Well, at regular-ish intervals, anyway. He slept on the same days but not always at the same time, and sometimes that got pushed when they were busy negotiating with humans or under Decepticon attack. The idea that Prowl stayed up until exhaustion or Ratchet forced him to power down was _mostly_ an exaggeration, at least on regular days. Prowl did get so involved in his work he'd forgo fuel and rest, but he did it deliberately, he didn't forget. Jazz wasn't sure how that rumour had gotten started. Prowl was many things, but forgetful was not one of them. Sure, recharge was an essential thing, but at this point, they'd all had to put it off in the name of doing what was required from time to time. Prowl just did it more often, so the rest of the Autobots didn't have to. But he did rest, and as often as he could, did so with Jazz.

Jazz loved to watch Prowl fall asleep slowly, gradually drowsing off while he read or was tucked up against Jazz's side. Jazz even liked to watch Prowl drop off from exhaustion after a battle because he knew his lover would wake up feeling better and more focused. Prowl even muttered in his sleep sometimes, and it was usually adorable nonsense. Usually. Sometimes it was the sound of Prowl reliving past trauma in his sleep, protesting or crying out, and those were the nights Jazz spoke to him in return, calming him and gently urging him back to safety. Prowl did the same for Jazz, on his bad nights. Sometimes they had bad nights together, and those were the ones they didn't even try to sleep. What they did do depended on what they each needed but powering down was definitely not on the menu.

Even more than watching Prowl fall asleep, Jazz enjoyed watching him as he woke, early in the morning while most of the Ark was still at rest. Jazz usually slept later than Prowl, but on the days he didn't he had himself a treat.

Prowl woke slowly unless it had been a bad night and the nightmares jerked him awake, and the sight of Prowl slowly rising to consciousness was utterly endearing to Jazz. First, Prowl would shift a little on his pillow, doors flexing ever so slightly. Then, he'd frown a little, as if he didn't _really _want to wake up and give a small stretch with all four limbs. Finally, his optics would come online, bright blue, and he'd look in Jazz's direction and smile.

"Morning, baby," Jazz would whisper, smiling back and Prowl would answer.

"Good morning, darling."


	16. The 2,288th Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 - Warning  
\---  
Based on [this prompt](https://i0.wp.com/thefakeredhead.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/109-writing-prompt-by-TFR-IG.png?zoom=1.25&fit=800%2C800&ssl=1) from [The Fake Redhead](https://www.thefakeredhead.com):  
Your character has been the custodian of an isolated satellite for ten years.  
On the first day of Year Eleven, a shuttle arrives unannounced.

The warning light went off, alerting the staff of Border Outpost Epsilon-II to an approaching ship. Second Lieutenant Prowl, Cybertron Planetary Security looked up from his 2,288th operations log, which was virtually identical to the 2,287 that had gone before it, and frowned as he reached for the console. He was currently, as he had been for ten stellar-cycles, the only officer assigned to the outpost and he had never heard this alert before. Ships had passed through the station's space previously but none had approached or even made contact. For a– shuttle? Yes, it was– for a shuttle to take on an approach vector was highly unusual. The ship broadcast its identification as belonging to the MV_ Counterparts_. Prowl hadn't forgotten procedure, though, and he opened hailing frequencies to the little ship.

'MV_ Counterparts shuttle, this is Cybertron Planetary Security outpost Epsilon-II. Do you require assistance?_'

The crew did not respond, but the shuttle's automated docking beacon came online and began to broadcast. Assuming this meant that the crew was in stasis or otherwise incapacitated, Prowl had the station's computer lock on to the beacon and guide the ship into the docking bay. He stayed to monitor until the shuttle was safely docked and headed downstairs while the bay re-pressurized.

No one had exited or attempted to exit the ship while Prowl was _en route_ to the bay and sensors read no active life signs. Prowl still approached with his service weapon drawn. Security overrides served to open the shuttle's hatch, and Prowl entered cautiously. The tiny bridge was empty, and Prowl made his way back to the equally small crew cabin. He was unsurprised to find a sole crewmember, probably Polyhexian based on their superstructure-type, in stasis in the narrow berth. The readouts on the berth informed Prowl that nothing was medically wrong with the occupant and so he subspaced his weapon and began the reactivation sequence.

The mech began to wake up a few nano-kliks after the reactivation indicators turned green. They frowned in disorientation, hardly surprising, and began to sit up before they focused on Prowl. Their RFID revealed him to be Jazz of Staniz, a Polyhexian sub-province, first officer aboard the Merchant Vessel _Counterparts_.

"Easy," Prowl said, suddenly very aware of just _how long _it had been since he'd spoken to someone in person. "You're coming out of stasis. I'm Second Lieutenant Prowl, Cybertron Planetary Security and you're on board perimeter outpost Epsilon-II. I've docked your shuttle and brought you out of stasis. How do you feel?"

"Like I just came outta stasis, mech, how d'you think?" Jazz pressed his fingers to the sides of his optic band, apparently trying to rub away a post-stasis headache. "Primus, I'm gonna replace these berths soon as, 'cause they are _slag_. Did you say Epsilon-II?"

"I did. Does that mean something to you?"

"Means I'm somewhere I can get help, finally. Where exactly are we? I gotta check." Jazz got up and headed to the bridge, presumably to check the navigational logs. Prowl followed, not willing to leave a stranger unattended on his station for even a klik until he had a better idea of what was going on with his guest. "Epsilon's outer rim of Cybertron's territory, I know that. How many mechs you got here?"

"Just myself." Prowl didn't see any point in disseminating. It would be apparent very quickly that he was the station's entire complement. "How did you come to be out here alone?"

Jazz was bringing the ship's systems back up to active status and accessing the navigational computer. The ship's flight path was displayed, the green line indicating the shuttle breaking away from a blue one that Prowl knew meant the MV _Counterparts_, the shuttle's parent ship. There was little data beyond the separation point, once the two vessels were too far apart to read each other's telemetry, but what little there was suggested the _Counterparts _was having difficulty maintaining a steady course. Prowl also got a glimpse of the shuttle's fuel gauge; too low to make it to Cybertron without refuelling and Prowl had no shuttle fuel.

"My sib Rico - full designation's Ricochet - and I own the _Counterparts_ \- he's majority owner, I'm minor - and its engines started having trouble a," there was a brief pause, "deca-cycle or so back, I guess. Less time than I thought it'd be, good. Rico kept the CP on course hoping it'd get to our destination and I took the shuttle and aimed for the nearest Cybertronian signal we could read, hoping there'd be help there." He glanced over his shoulder at Prowl. "Guess that's you."

"I am here to provided assistance if needed," Prowl confirmed. "What was your ship's destination?"

"Omnitron."

Omnitron was one of the further colonies but not so far out it would be unreasonable for an independent merchant vessel to travel there. Prowl thought Jazz and Rico might have been traveling outside standard shipping lanes, but that was hardly a crime. Shipping lanes were for convenience and, to a degree, safety. Their use was strongly encouraged but not required. Companies would sometimes do that to avoid other shipping traffic or cut time off their routes. It didn't mean a ship using it was engaged in criminal activity. Not by itself.

"I'll send a subspace message to Omnitron to see if the _Counterparts_ arrived," Prowl told Jazz. "If it hasn't, I'll send a wider alert to the Empire's security forces to be on the lookout for it."

"Thanks. Just hope he didn't wind up drifting too far off course." Jazz shut down the shuttle's systems again. "But unless something went really, really wrong after I took off to get help what telemetry I've got here makes me think it should be alright. Makes me hope, anyway," he added quietly.

"Wait to hear from Omnitron before you begin to worry," Prowl advised. "While you're waiting, are you in need of anything? Medical attention? Fuel?"

"Don't need repairs but yeah, fuel'd be great." Jazz tapped a brief rhythm on the console before turning to Prowl. "Don't get anything else to do while I wait, anyway."

The message to Omnitron was duly dispatched. Prowl gave Jazz the use of the other crew cabin, which was slightly larger than that of the shuttle, for the duration of his stay. Having dispatched his duty and completed the procedure he was following, Prowl was suddenly unsure of what to do with himself. He should act the part of host, he knew, but even before his assignment to Epsilon-II, he'd never exactly been one for social situations. His discomfort with them and his ability to do the work of two on his own had been factors in the decision to place him here. But fuelling was an acceptable social activity, and he did require energon, so he joined Jazz in the little galley that doubled as a mess hall.

"I apologize that there's no word yet from Omnitron," Prowl said as he sat down across the table from his guest.

"Only been a breem or two," Jazz said. "Don't worry, I'm not close to panicking yet. 'Sides, even if the _Counterparts_ ain't there yet, Rico can look after himself. Give it a meta-cycle, I'll start worrying if there're no hits on nav beacons or whatever." Jazz sipped from his cube, then set it down and looked Prowl in the optics. "So. How long have you been out here?"

"My assignment has just entered its eleventh stellar-cycle."

Jazz whistled. "Long damn time. Who'd you piss off to get stuck way out here all by your lonesome?"

Prowl saw no reason to disseminate or refuse to discuss. "I had been assigned to Internal Affairs. As part of an investigation I headed several high-level officers in Central Iacon were removed from the force or demoted. Some even faced charges."

"But the other officers didn't like you for doing it, and/or had friends in higher places," Jazz finished for him. "So you wound up out here. That's scrap, mech. But eleven stellar-cycles?"

"I've simply never been recalled." The corner of Prowl's mouth twitched with bitter humour. "I think my placement here has become a habit."

"That's scrap." Jazz repeated and shook his head. "Scrap and rust and I'm sorry to hear it."

"Thank you. I've become accustomed to it, over time, I suppose."

"Accustomed doesn't mean you like it." Before Prowl could reply, Jazz continued. "But that's probably more than you wanna get into with a mech you just met. So how about I tell you funny stories from my past 'til the ice breaks? You don't gotta do anything but listen. Sound good?"

"I've been told I don't smile often." It was the only thing Prowl could think of to say. Mecha wanted you to smile when they related humorous anecdotes, after all.

"Don't got to. Don't even gotta listen if you don't want to. I get you're used to being on your own, I won't be offended if you take off."

Prowl thought about it. Finally, he said, "I would like to listen."

"Alright, then. Lemme tell you about this one time Rico and I were in Crystal City…"

* * *

Prowl didn't get a response to his message to Omnitron for several joors, and when he did he was, for Jazz's sake, pleased to see it was positive.

"_Counterparts_ arrived safely at Omnitron five cycles ago," he reported to Jazz, who was still in the galley, watching a comedy on the vid-screen. "Ricochet is undamaged. The ship's engines were offline, and the vessel drifted into Omnitron space where it was towed to drydock. Repairs are estimated to take another ten cycles."

Jazz sighed, clearly relieved. "So Rico's okay. Good, good. Thank you."

Prowl had only been doing his duty, but he gave the expected response of, "you are welcome." He remembered looking at Jazz's shuttle's fuel gauge; the mech didn't have enough to get to Cybertron, let alone Omnitron. "Will you summon a transport to take you to Omnitron or remain until your sibling can return for you?"

"Well, now, that's up to you." Jazz had been slouching, now he sat upright and smiled. "You want some company for a while?"

Prowl was surprised, and it took him a moment to think of a response. "I - am unsure. But, it is late for you to start a journey and it can take time to recover from stasis." Generally not as short a stasis as Jazz had experienced, of course. Prowl was aware he was making excuses. He was not even sure why. "Perhaps you could stay for a cycle? Or two?"

Jazz's smile grew broader. "Y'know, I think I could."

Jazz's stay extended beyond two cycles. At some point, Prowl stopped thinking 'perhaps one more' and simply enjoyed Jazz's company. Jazz travelled with a large assortment of entertainment, and he shared movies with Prowl that the Security mech had never seen before.

He really had been out here a long time.

"I think you should quit," Jazz said unexpectedly one night, nearly a deca-cycle since he'd first arrived.

They'd just gotten word that _Counterparts_ was repaired and on its way to pick Jazz up. Jazz and Prowl were in the mess hall watching movies again. Jazz had his feet up on the seat opposite them, and Prowl was contemplating doing the same. It looked very comfortable.

"Quit - being a Security officer?" Prowl asked a bit blankly. That was what he had been sparked to do, all he'd ever done.

All he'd _ever_ done…

"Yeah. I mean, you haven't been doing much in the way of security these past eleven stellar-cycles, have you? And I don't think you're really happy here, are you? Just kinda - used to it."

Prowl was silent for a moment before speaking again. "That is a fair assessment. I'll have to think about it."

Jazz just nodded. "You do what's right for you, Prowler."

Prowl was silent through the rest of the movie and distracted when he bid Jazz good-night. He rested lightly, running analyses throughout the night and almost until _Counterparts_ hailed them to announce its approach.

"Guess I'm heading out soon, then," Jazz said. Prowl had breached regulations and allowed him into the command centre. He had taken over the first officer's chair, of course. "Gonna miss you, though, Prowler. It's been good times."

Prowl looked up from his 2,298th operations log, virtually identical to the 2,297 that had gone before it.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Prowl offered, hesitantly setting the tablet aside with the incomplete log entry.

"I couldn't ask that of you, Prowl."

Prowl shook his head a little. He felt nervous and anticipatory, all that the same time. "You're not - no. I'm asking you: would you like me to come with you?"

Jazz sat upright. "You're serious? Of course you're serious," he amended, answering his own question. "Yeah, yeah I would like that. But your outpost…?"

"Can run on automatic until Cybertron Security can send out a replacement." Prowl offered Jazz a shy smile. "I already quit. I would have just gone back to Cybertron if I didn't depart with you. I'm not sure what it is I want, but…" He shrugged.

"But you know it isn't here," Jazz finished for him.

Prowl shook his head again. "No. I don't know if it's aboard your ship either, but I can't evaluate that in the absence of data."

Jazz nodded, still smiling though now it had a hint of amusement. "Guess you'll have to collect it then."

"Yes. If your sibling doesn't object, of course," Prowl added.

"Nah, Rico'll be cool with it. If he's not, well," Jazz shrugged, "_Counterparts _is still forty-five percent my ship."

"I think I can share forty-five percent of a ship," Prowl told him, shyly pleased at Jazz's positive response. He'd known the mech liked him but liking someone you were staying with temporarily and wanting that someone to travel with you were two different things.

"Yeah, bet you can," Jazz said fondly. "I was gonna take the shuttle out to meet Rico in a breem or so. You got much to pack?"

"No. Just one small crate," that mostly held maintenance supplies, "the rest is in my subspace." It didn't sound like much, but Prowl didn't need much. Just more than he had here.

"You like to travel light, huh?" Jazz teased affectionately. "I can get behind that. So can Rico. So, you've just gotta finish up your report, and we're good to go?"

Prowl glanced down at the tablet with the unfinished log still open on it. He reached over and closed the file without saving.

"No. I'm ready. Let's go."


	17. Rendezvous (Transformers: Prime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 - Walk away  
\---  
The opening lines are copied from TF:P, of course.

_'…here to stay. If you approach this planet with hostile intent, know this: We will defend ourselves. We will defend humanity. We will defend... our home. … My name is Optimus Prime, and I send this message. Though we did not choose to be of Earth, it would seem that we are…'_

Prowl shut off the transmission and turned to look at Jazz, clearly wanting his counterpart's opinion.

Jazz frowned and tapped his fingers on the console. Prowl wouldn't want Jazz's opinion if he didn't think it was legit but a message from Prime, now, after a long radio silence seemed too good to be true. A message promising a home, at that.

"What do you want to do?" Jazz asked.

"If Prime is there Ratchet is most probably with him," Prowl said, glancing back toward the crew area, which included their little medibay where Bluestreak was resting. It was Red Alert and Inferno's off-shift, and they were most likely in recharge.

Jazz and Prowl didn't ask what Red Alert and Inferno used the cabin for and vice versa. Aside from privacy, it was one of the things you had to do to keep the peace on a ship meant for three single mecha, max, while holding five.

Jazz nodded. "Yeah, probably. Blue's not the only one who could use some repairs, either. I'm worried about Red too."

"Yes, or – " Prowl hesitated and looked away. "Or we could…not. We could travel to a known, non-hostile planet with facilities for Cybertronians. Velocitron or Caminus are both within range given our current capabilities – "

"Barely." Jazz looked at his lover critically. "What're you saying, lover?"

"We could walk away," Prowl said, quiet and hesitant. "We'll be back in the war if we rejoin Prime. It's already taken so much from us. Bluestreak injured, Smokescreen Primus knows where after the Hall of Records fell, and you haven't had news of Ricochet and Half-step in even longer. Praxus, Cybertron…"

"I know." Jazz reached over and took Prowl's hand. "I know, love, believe me. But Prime – Optimus – is also our only chance at getting any of that back."

Prowl didn't seem convinced yet. "We should at least ask the others. Get their opinions, preferably a consensus."

Prowl and Jazz were still Inferno, Red Alert, and Bluestreak's superiors officers, but it wouldn't be the first time a major decision had been undertaken diplomatically aboard their ship. It was probably the one that was the biggest, though. Prowl bringing it up, though, told Jazz he wasn't comfortable with the idea of walking away from the war but he wasn't sure he wanted to stay in it either.

"Okay, Prowl," Jazz said, rubbing his thumb over Prowl's knuckles. "We'll wake up Blue and talk to the others at shift change. Sound good?"

"Thank you, Jazz."

Big decision incoming or not, Prowl was professional and focused for the rest of their shift, even if there wasn't much to do. Just keep the ship on course and keep an optic on the sensors for Decepticons or other hostiles, pretty much. Jazz knew the sight of Prowl throwing himself into work to distract himself, and he let the matter drop.

Crowding into medibay with Red Alert and Inferno wasn't easy, but they managed. Bluestreak was propped up on the medical berth, and the four other Autobots were arranged around him. 'Cozy' was a kind descriptor. 'Claustrophobic' would be a better one. They weren't just keeping to standard shifts to stick with protocol, they were keeping them to make sure everyone got some small measure of privacy. It wasn't easy. Everyone, except Bluestreak, had spent a night sleeping on the galley table to make sure their partner could get some time to themselves or to let tensions drain away.

It was a small ship, and they'd all been on it a long time.

"You're certain this transmission is from Prime?" Red Alert asked, arms folded and fingers of one hand tapping on the opposite elbow. There was tension around his optics, but Jazz couldn't tell if that was worry or stress from working around the damage to his logic coprocessor. Red did an excellent job of managing the paranoia caused by that injury, usually, but the system maintenance that went along with that management needed a medic. Each Autobot aboard ship had some medical training, just not the right kind to help him. Ratchet, though…

"I ran it through your verification algorithms twice," Prowl replied. "It is Prime's voice, and it is being transmitted on an Autobot command frequency from that particular planet. The sublayers of the transmission include Prime's personal command codes and identification. Jazz and I can both vouch for those."

"The question we have," Jazz said, picking up seamlessly where his partner left off, "is this, and it's a big one: do we want to find someplace neutral we can live our lives, or do we want to go back to the war?"

There were several silent nano-kliks of surprise and thought, with everyone looking at everyone else. Bluestreak picked at the edge of the pressure bandage holding his knee together and trying to prevent the rust infection from spreading. By itself the injury wasn't the worst any of them had ever seen but the repair, like Red Alert's coprocessor maintenance, required specialized work. They could buy medical assistance, yes, but Ratchet would be far superior to any of that.

Inferno wrapped his arms around Red Alert from behind and hugged his partner back against his chest. Red Alert turned his head into the embrace, but not before Jazz caught a glimpse of static sparking over a sensor horn. Things were getting worse.

"Optimus might have news about Smokescreen," Bluestreak said softly, looking down at his bandage.

"And Ratchet will be with him," Inferno said. "Are you two serious about this? Can you walk away from duty? From our Prime?"

"We wanted to put it to a vote," Prowl replied. "I understand the need for medical care and-and I would like to know Smokescreen's fate, among that of others. But it has been a long war, and – well. We wanted to offer the choice."

"I want to go to Prime," Bluestreak said. "I don't want to fight, but Prime is the one with the best chance of ending the war. And I want to find out about my sibling, if I can, and get repaired."

"I can't leave the war," Red Alert said, looking back at Jazz and Prowl. "Not while the Decepticon threat is still active. I want to go to Prime. I can't speak for Inferno, of course."

"I'm going wherever you go, Red. You don't have to ask about that."

Red Alert smiled. "I know."

"Three out of five at least," Jazz said, looking at Prowl. "Guess we're going."

Prowl nodded decisively. "We are. Red Alert, Inferno, you have the bridge. Please access the transmission for the appropriate coordinates and lay in a course."

And that was that.

"What d'you think we'll find on this Earth place?" Jazz asked Prowl late that night, squeezed in together on their narrow berth.

"Hopefully what Optimus has promised," Prowl answered. He was tucked up behind Jazz, back to the wall. "A home."

"Yeah." Jazz didn't even try to keep the wistful tone out of his voice. "One of those'd be nice again. Never really had one of those with you."

They had become involved after the Exodus from Cybertron, and most of their relationship had been spent aboard various ships, and not always the same one. Their last posting had been the _Vapour Trail _until it had been heavily damaged and the crew forced to scatter. The five of them had taken this runabout, the _Grace Under Pressure_, and retreated, hoping to rendezvous with other survivors later. It had never happened. Decepticon patrols had dogged them, and they'd never been able to manage it. The various groups had eventually become too scattered for a successful rendezvous. Prowl had changed their orders to rendezvous with whatever Autobots they could. Some had done so. Others they had never received word about.

"For now I would settle for quarters we have more than a fifty percent share in."

Jazz snorted. "Yeah, that'd be great too. Pretty sure Red and Inferno feel the same way."

"I'm very sure they do." Prowl draped an arm over Jazz and threaded their fingers together. "And they'll be back soon enough so we should rest. Goodnight, darling."

"'Night, lover."

Cycles later, they began their approach to a blue-and-green world with one moon, orbiting a single star. Prime's signal was stronger here, and they made a cautious approach to the planet.

"Any Decepticon signals?" Jazz asked. It was technically Red, and Inferno's shift but everyone was on the bridge. Bluestreak leaned on Prowl, taking his weight off his leg as much as he could.

"No," Red Alert said. "And that's what worries me. If Optimus Prime is here and actively broadcasting, one would think Decepticons, as well as Autobots, would have intercepted the transmission. There could be Decepticons here, cloaked, and we wouldn't see them until they were right on top of us."

That was a legit concern and Jazz, and Prowl exchanged glances. But if the Decepticons were here they had most likely detected them and the best thing to do would be stay on course for Prime and help.

"Maintain our course," Prowl said calmly.

"We're being hailed," Inferno said. "The vessel is broadcasting Autobot recognition codes and is designated the _Jackhammer_."

Wheeljack's ship. So there were Autobots here!

"Put 'em on speaker, Inferno," Jazz ordered. "Let's see what they have to say."

'_Hey, there, _Grace Under Pressure_! This is Wheeljack, I'm here to escort you in._'

Jazz laughed from sheer relief. "Wheeljack, you old son of a glitch! It is you!"

'_Jazz? Good to hear from you! Let me guess, Prowl's there with you._'

"Yes, I am, Corporal," Prowl said, pointedly emphasizing Wheeljack's rank. "We intercepted a transmission and came to rendezvous with – "

'_Yeah, we guessed. Optimus'll be glad to see you. Smokey too, I bet.'_

Prowl froze. "Smokescreen is here?"

_'Sure is. Set your nav comp to follow my beacon and I'll get you to him and the big guy in no time. Talk to you on the ground, Jazz. Wheeljack out.'_

Bluestreak awkwardly hugged his sibling. "Prowl! Smokescreen's okay!"

Prowl broke discipline and returned the hug. "Yes, it seems he is."

Jazz put an arm around Prowl's shoulders. "It's fantastic news, Prowler. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you," Prowl murmured. He commed Jazz immediately after with, '_I wish you could have gotten news of your family._'

Jazz squeezed his lover's shoulder reassuringly. '_Maybe they're out there, yeah. Dunno. But I made my peace with the idea that they're not a long time ago, love. You go on and be happy about this, you deserve it._'

Prowl, heedless of their company, smiled at him. '_I love you._'

'_I love you, too._' Jazz brushed a quick kiss onto Prowl's shoulder then looked at the new world they were approaching. '_Let's see if we're coming home now._'

Prowl didn't reply. He didn't have to. The planet approached and they stood and watched it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm thinking I want to continue this one at some point.


	18. Rumours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - Things people say  
\---  
Just a little slice-of-life thing today. I wrote this for Trope Bingo Round 12 (Friends to lovers, I think?) but went with a different direction for that particular square.

Rumours and nasty comments about Prowl – that he was cold, unfeeling, little more than a sparked drone, not even a sparked one, an AI driving a mech's structure – had circulated for ages. Prowl resolutely ignored them but was aware of them even so. They were each one, another piece of data to be slotted into his calculations. So, when they began to subside he noticed but considered it merely a slump, anomalous data. It had happened before when something or someone else caught the rumour mill's attention, and he knew, statistically, when they should resume normal levels.

They did not. Prowl briefly wondered about that, then concluded that it was not necessary to run an analysis as to why. Perhaps his lack of reaction had resulted in rumour-mongers finally giving up.

It came up, inadvertently, at the end of a debriefing with Hound. The gregarious scout had stayed to chat a bit afterwards, one of the few who would do so with Prowl. Prowl did not discourage it because he understood a working relationship ran better if the other mech was permitted to express themselves. Prowl allotted an extra five kliks to his sessions with Hound to allow for 'small talk.'

"You know, I'm glad people have stopped spreading rumours about you," Hound said, three kliks into this allotted time. "You must be too. Don't worry, I know you didn't have to ask him to do it for you. He's just like that."

"I always prefer not to have the negative attention of the general populace," Prowl said diplomatically. "Of whom do you speak? Which 'he?'"

Hound tilted his head and looked at him curiously. "Well, Jazz, of course."

"Jazz," Prowl echoed.

Hound frowned slightly. "Well, yeah, Prowl. I mean, once everyone realized you two are friends, that was it." Hound chuckled. "No one wants to mess with a friend of Jazz."

"Of course not," Prowl said, hoping he was successfully masking his blank confusion. "I ought to have realized. Thank you, Hound."

* * *

"I understand I have you to thank for the decrease in rumours about me," Prowl said to Jazz the next time they met. It wasn't a work occasion for once; Prowl had accepted Jazz's offer to dine together in the officer's mess that evening. It wasn't as if the offerings in the officer's mess differed from anywhere else, especially now that everyone was fueling straight from cubes, but it was quieter.

"Lemme guess: Hound," Jazz said cheerfully. "It's true. I didn't do it directly though." Hardly a surprise; many underestimated just how subtle Jazz could be, but Prowl wasn't one of them. "Just dropped a couple mentions 'bout us being friends and let everyone draw their own conclusions 'bout what'd happen."

"Still, thank you," Prowl said honestly. "I appreciate it. I paid little attention to the rumours about me, but I must admit I prefer not having to deal with them."

"Yeah, me too." Jazz frowned and added, looking into his energon, "it ain't right for them to talk about you like that. Some people are just quiet, that doesn't mean they don't feel anything. You're a hell of a lot more patient than I am. I'd have had them all chucked in the stockade for talking about any fellow Autobot like that, let alone a superior officer, 'cept I know if you wanted that you would've done it yourself.

"See, I think they've got it all wrong," Jazz continued. "I don't think you spend all your time buried in work 'cause you don't feel anything. I think you do it because you do. I think you care about your fellow Autobots and you care a _lot_. Sound about right, Prowl?"

"That's how you see me?"

"That's how you are," Jazz said. "I know you probably don't care much about what people say, but I wanted you to know that anyway."

"The opinion of the general populace doesn't concern me," Prowl said honestly, "but yours does. Thank you, Jazz."

Jazz smiled at him. "You're welcome, Prowler."


	19. The Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 - Remember  
\---  
Takes place after [Ch.4 - Paint](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535557/chapters/48838121) and therefore after [In Every Voice He'd Ever Had](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727542) but if you just want the backstory without reading those, I've dropped a brief overview into the endnotes.

Jazz might be immortal and have lived for millions of years, but he had yet to get bored with living. He did love new things and new experiences, though, and the reconstruction of Cybertron had never stopped fascinating him. It hadn't been easy, but eventually Cybertronians had thrown themselves into rebuilding their world with the same fervour they'd once put into destroying it. Iacon and Kaon were the two cities first put forward for simultaneous reconstruction and Jazz had been heavily involved in that. Post-war he was the Minister for Culture, Heritage, and Tourism and wound up on a lot of projects aimed at restoring or rebuilding critical cultural artifacts in both cities. It had been a hard road but they'd finally gotten functional cities up and running and no longer looking like construction zones. Residential, business, governmental, and shopping districts were available, and mecha could walk through them, almost like the war had never happened. Jazz was on such a walk now with his freshly-reincarnated Prowl.

Jazz admired Prowl's new paint job as they strolled through Iacon's busy market district. Prowl had kept the shades of red, black, and white he'd gotten in this new body but the style was very different. Sunstreaker had thrown a fit over Prowl's proposed replacement scheme and promptly redesigned it, and the result was _damn fine_, even taking Jazz's obvious bias into account. Jazz was proud, on Prowl's behalf, of the looks his lover was getting and playfully latched on to Prowl's arm like a human female in a drama set in Earth's nineteenth-century England.

"What are you doing?" Prowl inquired, amused. He got it, though, because he bent his arm and put the opposite hand over Jazz's. Jazz loved rock'n'roll, and jazz obviously, but those weren't the _only _bits of human culture he'd indulged in. Prowl had, by way of inhabiting the same space, been exposed and picked some up as well.

"Promenading!" Jazz replied, leaning into Prowl's arm briefly. Period dramas reminded him of what this part of Iacon used to be like. "Hey, remember when this area used to be all fancy shops and restaurants?"

"Yes." Prowl looked around. "There was a park, over there…not as lovely as the Helix Gardens, but I would sometimes walk through it because it did remind me a little of home."

"I remember." The area was bare, now, any ruins left over from the war having been razed and recycled. Jazz had access to proposed plans for the reuse of such areas. He accessed them now and saw nothing was in motion for the former park. "Could be a park again. Would you like that, lover?"

"Are you misusing your Ministerial powers, Jazz?"

Jazz shrugged and held up the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, just a mechano-centimetre apart. "Little bit? I mean, though, something has to go there, why not a park? There're already plans for shops and buildings in this area, be nice to have a little bit of a place to rest in all of that."

"And because I'd like it."

"And because you'd like it," Jazz agreed. "What d'you say, Prowler? Want a park?"

"It was a lovely park," Prowl said slowly. "And your justifications for it have merit."

"So, yes?"

Prowl sighed fondly. "Yes, you incorrigible mech, I would like to see a park placed there again."

"Fantastic," Jazz said, satisfied. "If it's a park you want, Prowler, it's a park you're gonna get."

"Incorrigible," Prowl repeated, smiling and tapping an affectionate message out in Hand.

"Yeah," Jazz said, leaning his head against Prowl's arm. "Love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The backstory is, Jazz is immortal through some fluke of his spark and while Prowl is, technically, mortal he's been reincarnated many, many times, most recently after his death in the shuttle during The Transformers: The Movie (1986).
> 
> Post-war, Jazz is Cybertron's Minister of Culture, Heritage, and Tourism. Prowl wasn't satisfied with the paint job he was reincarnated with and decided to change it. He also meant to be retired but wound up being a well-regarded crystal-hobbyist instead.


	20. Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 - Song  
\---  
This takes place partially in the [Senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161692/chapters/39048046)-verse, where Prowl has been unwillingly turned into a classical vampire and Jazz is a kind of empathic vampire, and is a kind of AU-of-an-AU, I guess, because I can't see where it would fit into the 'regular' continuity. It's just the sandbox I wanted to play in today.

Prowl was a little shy about the idea of meeting Jazz's family, which was apparently very large, but he had his lover next to him for reassurance. Right now they were headed into one of the caverns under Polyhex, apparently where Jazz's enclave had once lived and now used as a gathering place. Prowl was not claustrophobic, but he wasn't sure about the idea of going underground again. He hadn't been underground since he'd been trapped in an acid rain shelter and turned into a vampire by an unknown assailant. He told himself that this would be different. It was bigger, for one, and he would be able to leave whenever he wanted. Jazz would be with him.

"We don't have to go down to the Hall," Jazz reminded him as they left their transport. "Everyone'll get it if you don't want to be underground. Not everyone does. Even some of us are a bit claustrophobic. We can go to my creators' place, get you set up there."

It sounded tempting, but Prowl knew Jazz wanted to go to the concert.

"No," Prowl said. "It's alright. Besides, you'd stay with me, and I know you want to attend the concert. I know you've missed them."

"You know I'd do it for you, Prowler," Jazz said gently.

"I know, but – and besides, I'm curious to see what your concerts are like." This one was open to mecha from outside the enclave as well as its members. They would not be feeding as they would at an enclave-only concert.

Jazz squeezed his hand. "Alright."

The cavern, carved to enhance its acoustics and known only as the Hall, was large enough to hold several hundred mecha. There were no seats, but there was a stage set up at one end, and purposeful discord sounded as musicians tuned their instruments. One of the musicians, who looked so much like Jazz that Prowl immediately knew they had to be one of his creators, looked up. The mech, whose designation was Half-step, broke into a broad smile and abandoned his keyboard to come and greet his creation.

"Jazzie!" Half-step crowed, wrapping Jazz in an enthusiastic embrace and getting one in return. "Good to see you, kiddo!"

"Hey, 'Fex, good to see you too." Jazz stepped back and reached out to guide Prowl forward. "'Fex, this is Prowl. Prowler, this is my Aedifex, Half-step."

For a nano-klik, Prowl thought he was about to get scooped into a hug too, but Half-step only shook his hand.

"Good to meet you, Prowl." Half-step looked him over critically. "How're you holding up? You've been through a lot, and that is putting it lightly."

Prowl hesitated only a moment before responding. "I am adjusting. Jazz has been quite helpful."

"Yeah, he's good at that," Half-step said proudly, glancing over at his creation. "'Fraid I don't have any news for you on the vamp that turned you. We've been hunting, but they are in the wind."

"Thank you. I," Prowl hesitated again, not liking to talk about this but trying to push past it. It didn't work. He finally settled on merely saying, "thank you," again.

Half-step didn't press, and soon Prowl was being introduced to the rest of Jazz's family: his Sator Chorale, Creator Downbeat, and two with titles he puzzled over, Accendo and Carrier, named Crosscut and Pulse respectively. Prowl didn't get a chance to ask about them, though, because they were all somehow involved in the concert and had to either perform or do technical things. He would have to ask Jazz later.

Later was going to be some time because once the concert started, it was too loud for conversation, with the music and sounds of mecha dancing with each other on stone. Prowl was too shy to dance with anywhere near the abandon the others did, but he did let Jazz take his hands and lead him through a few steps. Then, once he'd managed to urge Jazz off into the crowd to dance freeform with the others, Prowl made his way out of the group, to the back, hoping he wasn't being rude. He just needed some space. It wasn't the crowd itself, or even the sound, per se. It was the presence of so many other living mecha, so much fuel pumping around him, so much energy, so much…so much _food_.

The back of the Hall wasn't enough. Prowl slipped out the doors, into the vestibule, and sat down on a bench there, trying to calm and centre himself.

Jazz found him a breem or so later and knelt in front of him.

"Prowler?" Jazz asked, concerned. "Is it too much?"

"I just – I hadn't been a crowd like that since – and I was unprepared for it." Prowl hesitated over explaining it since he was afraid he would sound like he was describing Jazz's relatives as prey.

"Okay." Jazz held out his hands and Prowl took them, accepting the reassurance. "Sounds like it was too much, then. That's okay, though. Even enclave members need a break sometimes, especially – okay, remember I told you my kind are sparked not turned?" Prowl nodded. "Well, we don't start feeding off emotion until we hit adolescence and when that happens it can take a bit to adjust. You're probably going through something similar, it was probably a bit too much for your new senses. Sound about right?"

"Yes, but I've been in crowds before," Prowl protested. "Though, not like this one, admittedly. I'll apologize to your family, of course."

Jazz shook his head. "No, no, no. None of us are gonna ask you to apologize for looking after yourself, Prowler. You needed a break, took a breem or two to sit out, it happens, even when it's just enclave here. The mecha who don't know what happened to you will just think you stepped out for air or something and the ones who do know get it because they've been through something like it themselves. Okay, Prowl?"

"Okay," Prowl murmured. "Thank you for checking on me, Jazz. I didn't mean to take you away from – "

"Hey," Jazz interrupted gently and kissed the backs of Prowl's hands. "No apologizing, okay? I want you to look after yourself."

Prowl nodded and stood up, not letting Jazz's hands go. Jazz rose with him.

"I think I'd like to try going back, now," Prowl said quietly. "At least for one song. Perhaps staying toward the back where it's less crowded."

"We can do that," Jazz said. "There's a couple of slower ones coming up, that'll probably help too. Might be easier on your senses when everyone's less riled up."

"Thank you."

They slipped back into the Hall and, as Jazz had said, slower songs began to play while they stood at the back, away from the thick of the crowd.

'_Better?_' Jazz asked.

'_Yes.' _

'_Wanna dance? Nice and slow?'_

_'I don't know the steps.'_

_'Don't need steps for slow dancing, Prowler. Here, like this…' _Jazz showed Prowl where to put his hands, one holding Jazz's and the other on his waist. '_Now, just follow my lead. Do what I do, but in reverse.'_

Prowl was a little clumsy at first and didn't improve much beyond, he felt, not stepping on his partner's feet. Jazz was patient, as always, and guided him without complaint.

'_There you go,_' Jazz said proudly. '_Found the rhythm. Knew you could do it.'_

_'With your help,' _Prowl felt he had to point out.

Jazz smiled at him. '_Anytime, Prowl. Anytime.'_


	21. The End of the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 - Impatience  
\---  
I'm pretending Headmasters didn't happen because, quite frankly, S3's ender is a better finish for the series.

Jazz paced the length of Medical and back, over and over, until even First Aid began to run out of patience.

"Jazz," First Aid said finally, intercepting one lap of the hallway by planting himself in front of the other mech. "If you need to burn off energy, go to the track or find someone to spar with. You're disturbing the other patients."

"You said it'd be a few hours before Prowl woke up," Jazz countered, still practically vibrating with nerves. "You said that three hours ago, Aid, he's gotta be awake soon, right?"

"I said it would be _several_ hours, Jazz. More than three. Now, I'm not going to make you leave Medical," he continued, "but if you want to wait, you have to wait patiently. You can wait in Prowl's room if you like, but _quietly_, please."

Jazz sighed and rubbed his fingers just under the edge of his optic band.

"Sorry, Aid. I just…I worry, y'know? I'm sure you did an excellent job – a perfect job like Ratchet taught you – but he was hurt so bad, and it's been so long."

"I know," First Aid said, putting a hand on one of Jazz's arms and beginning to guide him toward the private rooms at the back of Medical where Prowl was recovering. "Prowl's injuries from the attack on the shuttle were severe, and it took a long time to manufacture the parts we needed for repair. But they're all in place and integrated, and his self-repair systems are running the final tests now. I'm monitoring it on my HUD, and everything is going as well as can be expected. You know that with work this delicate there are no hard-and-fast rules about when the patient will come back online."

"Yeah, I know, I know." Jazz paused before the entrance to Prowl's room, just outside the range of the door sensors, which were configured to recognize only him and the medical staff. "I appreciate everything you've done, Aid, I just – you're _sure _he's gonna wake up and remember everything?"

"It might take some time, and the more recent memories may be distorted or fragmented. Prowl probably won't remember the attack on the shuttle." First Aid patted Jazz's arm. "I don't want to say he won't know you when he wakes up at first, but you should prepare yourself for that, Jazz. I can't imagine how hard this is for you. I'm sure he'll remember you eventually, though. You two have been part of each other's lives for such a long time."

"Yeah. Yeah, he'd remember me eventually, no matter what. I mean, he's still Prowl, right?"

"His personality matrix was undamaged," First Aid replied diplomatically.

"'Kay, well." Jazz set his shoulders. "Guess I just gotta wait then. Here I go."

Jazz walked through the door.

The monitors surrounding and attached to Prowl didn't bother Jazz. They were for damn sure a better sight than the CR tank Prowl had been in, taken out only for a series of surgeries, for an entire Earth year. Despite what he'd said to First Aid earlier, it really hadn't been that long in the life of a Cybertronian. It had just felt longer. No Optimus, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Ironhide – the list went on too long. Prowl had still been alive – barely – but Jazz hadn't been able to talk to him. Millions of years they'd been together, and he was just now really realizing how much he relied on his lover to be his sounding board, among many other things.

Machines beeped and hummed steadily as Jazz took his seat next to Prowl's bed, wrapping one of Prowl's hands in his. Prowl's external structure had been badly damaged, but he'd taken and survived worse before. The real damage had been done to fine electronics and wiring, finicky, delicate work that required small specialized parts and a master hand to repair. Most of all, it required time. Time in the CR chamber, time for Prowl's self-repair systems – which had needed repair themselves – to do the most delicate work and integrate the new components. That was the most unpredictable part of this, that was what required the most patience.

Humans said that when someone was in a coma, they could hear you if you talked to them. Prowl wasn't exactly in a coma, but Jazz figured talking to him couldn't hurt. So he told him about what had happened since the attack on the shuttle: the deaths, the loss of Optimus, Unicron, Galvatron, Rodimus, the fledgling restoration of Cybertron, Quintessons, Optimus's return and second loss, the Hate Plague, Optimus returning again. Peace, fragile and still uncertain, but here at last. He sang and reminisced and told Prowl about what he hoped they'd do in the future. Prowl didn't respond, but Jazz told himself that didn't mean it wasn't working.

First Aid came in three-quarters of a cycle later to give Jazz the news that Prowl's self-repair had completed their final tests and Prowl should be coming online any moment now. First Aid gently shooed Jazz away so he could run his own final tests and monitor his patient on their return to consciousness. Jazz tried not to hover, to stay in the background, but it wasn't easy, especially not once the sounds from the monitors began to change. They were getting just a little faster – that had to be good, right, so long as they weren't too fast? Over Aid's shoulder, Jazz could see Prowl's optics light up.

"Prowl?" First Aid prompted. "Do you know who I am?"

Jazz locked his knees to keep himself from darting forward. First Aid had to run some basic checks first. It wouldn't help Prowl to interrupt those, especially if something actually was wrong. "First Aid of Archon, Executive Officer, Autobot Medical Division and member of the Protectobot gestalt team."

"Yes, that's right," First Aid said while Jazz forced himself to stay quiet and in one place. "Can you tell me who you are, where you are, and what the date is?"

"Prowl of Praxus, Optimus Prime's Chief of Staff and Head of Autobot Strategic and Tactical Operations. I'm in Medical, presumably a private room. Do you want the Cybertronian date or Earth local?"

"Earth local is fine."

"It's September twenty-eighth, two-thousand and…six." Then, more quietly, "I was shot. On the shuttle."

"That's right," First Aid said calmly. "That's all correct. You've got a lot of questions, and they'll be answered shortly, but first I'm going to test your motor responses, okay?"

"Yes. Where is Jazz?"

A huge wash of relief flooded Jazz when his lover asked for him by name.

"Here, Prowler," Jazz said, taking a step or two forward so Prowl could see him. "I'm right here. Just-just let Aid check you over and then I'll come to say 'hi' properly, okay?"

"Of course."

First Aid finished his checks and _finally _stepped back so that Jazz could get back to Prowl's side and see for himself his lover was alright, kiss him hello.

Explaining everything that had happened while Prowl was undergoing repairs was a lot less fun.

"There has been a heavy toll over the past year," Prowl said quietly, head bowed. He was sitting up now, on his own, and he had been permitted to drink regular instead of medical-grade energon. Jazz was sitting next to him, side by side. "Is there a memorial site, somewhere to go…?"

"Yeah, here at Autobot City. I'll take you once First Aid lets you out."

"Thank you." Prowl leaned into Jazz, who hugged him a little closer with the arm already around his shoulders. "I am sorry I couldn't have been with you while you went through this, Jazz."

"Well, you kinda had your own problems to deal with." Jazz kissed Prowl's helm gently. "Just glad you're back now, lover."

"So am I."

Prowl's recovery went well, and First Aid released him shortly with instructions to take it easy and not over-exert himself. Prowl had been on medical leave while he was undergoing repairs and that status would remain the same for the foreseeable future.

The visit to the memorial was painful and Prowl's emotional state was…not good for some time after. Jazz helped as much as he could, but it was really Prime – Optimus, that was – who really got Prowl through it. Made sense, since Optimus had gone through it already, having come back from the dead. Jazz honestly didn't care who helped Prowl, so long as someone did, and he did his best to just be there for Prowl and give him as much as he could.

"You're very patient with me," Prowl said one day, arm around Jazz's waist as they looked out over Autobot City from the window of their quarters, still relatively new even to Jazz. "Thank you."

"Don't gotta thank me, Prowler," Jazz said, idly caressing Prowl's lower back. "You'd do the same thing for me."

"I would, yes." He looked over at Jazz. "I understand you spent nearly every spare moment when I was in Medical, out of the CR tank, sitting with me and talking to me?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Whenever I could."

"You must have known it was unlikely I would hear you, let alone understand."

Jazz shrugged. "I knew. It didn't matter. You might have."

"And you did this nearly every day."

"Yeah…" Jazz was not sure where Prowl was going with this, but he knew it was somewhere.

"That sounds like an Act of Devotion."

Jazz stood perfectly still for a second. Then, "are you proposing to me, Prowl?"

"It's really a formality at this point, I think, but – yes."

"There're four Acts though, aren't there?" Jazz had never really thought about this. He figured that if he was with Prowl and they loved each other, the Rite and registering it and getting an official name and everything for their relationship was just window dressing. "Don't you have to do them in order or something?"

"That is the custom, but there is no specific law stating that nor is there one stating they must be performed within a certain timeframe," Prowl said, in the tone of a mech who'd already put his arguments together. "I can make a compelling case that we have, in fact, completed all four Acts and only recently decided to make a formal declaration. Many would likely be surprised to learn we haven't done so already." He paused. "Unless you don't want to, of course."

"Let me think about it," Jazz said slowly. "Just 'cause I haven't before. That okay?"

Prowl rested his head on Jazz's shoulder. "Of course, darling. Take all the time you need."

"Thanks, babe."

* * *

Jazz did think about it over the next day and a half – or, rather, he thought about any reason to object to it. He knew Prowl, and he knew this wasn't something the tactician would have brought up if he didn't want it. Jazz had meant it when he said he hadn't thought about it before. His mentor, Half-step, had been single and no one Jazz had been around while he was Half-step's student had really been into the whole 'relationship declaration' thing. Prowl, who was cold-constructed, had been thawed out and dropped straight into Enforcing so Jazz wasn't sure why…

Oh. _Oh_. Prowl had probably been taught, even without anyone saying it outright, that the Conjunx Ritus wasn't one of the things he was supposed to have, even though he was legally permitted. There were a lot of unspoken restrictions on the cold-constructed at the time, and by now Prowl had pretty much broken every single one, whether they were explicit or made by social pressure. This was one of the last ones, if not _the_ last one. This was the end of the war for Prowl, not just a declaration of his love for Jazz.

Jazz went straight to Prowl, tending his crystals in his home office, as soon as he'd figured that out and kissed him. Prowl didn't even get a chance to put down the bottle of solution he'd been feeding his crystals with.

"Jazz, what - ?"

"I'm saying 'yes,'" Jazz told him. "I want to declare the completion of the Conjunx Ritus between us."

Prowl looked at him curiously, but the tactician was smiling. "Not that I'm disappointed, but what changed your mind?"

Jazz cupped Prowl's head in one hand, ran a thumb over his cheek plates. "I figured out what it meant to you, realized that was important to me, too. So, yes. I will be your conjunx, lover, if you'll be mine."

Prowl's optics were softly lit. "I will be yours, Jazz. Of course I will."

"Ah, Prowler…" Jazz kissed him again, long and lingering. "So, just gimme that form I know you've got filled out already, and I'll put my thumbprint on it so you can send it off, okay?"

Prowl laughed joyously and handed him the datapad.


	22. With You, Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reunion scene from [In Every Voice He'd Ever Had](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727542), Prowl's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 - If

Prowl knew he had died. He was quite familiar with the feeling of being in the Well of All Sparks, in the presence of the creator-god Primus. He had been here many times, after all, and had no more intention of remaining this time than he had any of the others. Not until Jazz was able to join him and he couldn't sense his beloved's spark anywhere nearby. Therefore, Jazz was alive, and therefore Prowl was not going to remain dead.

Prowl was also familiar with the great, warm, loving presence at the centre of the Well and he willed himself there now.

"Must we go through this again?" Prowl asked that presence.

Primus pulsed love at him, and calm, assurance that he could stay, could spend his eternity in peace. Time passed differently here, he could wait for Jazz, all would be one in the end as they had been in the beginning.

Prowl lacked physical form, or he'd have shaken his head. "You know that won't work, and that if you try to keep me here I'll simply repeat my arguments for eternity as well."

The love and the offers of peace didn't stop but the being that called itself a god made no other reply.

"You know I'm capable of it."

A gentle, soothing feeling washed over him, carrying the reminder that he could rest, now. This was a place with no fear, no pain, no war.

"No Jazz."

The feeling carried, very briefly, a suggestion of frustration before the calm, loving offers of rest and peace et cetera came back.

"Very well, then. From the beginning. Returning me to a structure carries the following benefits for both yourself and my fellow Cybertronians…"

Prowl made his arguments again and again. Primus was very resistant that time but Prowl was relentless. Eventually, Prowl experienced the feeling of being drawn from the Well to a structure and felt both satisfied and anticipatory. There was a period where he lacked awareness, and then he awoke to see an initial boot sequence scrolling over his HUD.

_Finally_.

Prowl put up with the initial tests every newspark was run through, even though the term didn't apply to him. Giving his designation didn't get a response but, then again, all the good names _were _taken. He had been placed in a structure from a batch designed for civilian defence and emergency response - hardly a surprise - but when informed of this he declined to work in that position.

Optimus had kept the promises he'd made about freedom. There was no lecture about Prowl paying back his construction costs or that he must fulfill the function Primus had ordained for him. (Primus didn't ordain any such thing and Prowl knew it. Functionalism had _not_ been what He had wanted for His creations.) Prowl's decision was acknowledged, he signed a release form, was allotted temporary housing and provided with a bank account for the deposit of his guaranteed monthly income. Then he was simply allowed to go on his way, with the Vector Sigma attendant wishing him well.

Cybertron looked very different from Prowl's memories of it, but of course, those were outdated by – he checked his chronometer - well. Outdated by six and a half vorn. Primus really had tried to keep him in the Well this time, hadn't he? No matter. Prowl found the nearest public Data Net terminal and accessed Jazz's public profile. It might be coded so that Prowl could find him but no one else could, but Prowl knew Jazz would have left a way for Prowl to come back to him.

His optic ridges rose. His beloved had become the Minister of Culture, Heritage, and Tourism in the post-war years. Prowl could certainly see how Jazz would be suited to it but his choosing a governmental position was certainly a surprise. Still, it did make him easy to find, and that was probably part of what was behind the decision. It was getting near to the end of the workday, and Prowl immediately headed over to the appropriate government building, hoping to catch Jazz as or before he left.

Prowl was in luck. He pulled up and transformed while Jazz was walking down the ramp from the building housing his office to the street. His love was looking at him but hadn't recognized him yet. That wasn't expected and not a disappointment. Prowl knew him, though, and he moved to intercept Jazz before the mech got to the transformation lane.

Jazz broke into a run the nano-klik he recognized Prowl, throwing himself into Prowl's arms. Prowl caught him, but their new height difference and his unfamiliarity with this structure were just enough to throw his balance off. They crashed to the ground and Prowl rejoiced at the sound of Jazz laughing in joy.

Jazz kissed him, and Prowl returned each and every kiss more than eagerly, glorying in the feel of Jazz's mouth on his again, at last.

"What took you so long?" Jazz asked when they finally paused.

Prowl smiled up at him, spark spinning happily and new fuel pump pulsing with desire. "My apologies, Jazz. He was very stubborn this time around. I won out in the end, though."

"I knew you would," Jazz told him. "I told them all you would, no matter how long it took." He ran his fingers over Prowl's cheek. "Ready to go home, babe?"

"With you, always."


	23. Centennial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 - One hundred years

It had taken time for Prowl to be at ease visiting the memorials of the war. The worst had been the first time he'd made such a visit, to the memorial of the Battle of Autobot City. Prowl had been badly damaged in the attack on the shuttle that had led directly to that battle and been in stasis, a CR chamber, or medically induced sleep mode for the year following. Coming back online into a world where so much had radically changed hadn't been easy for him, but his friends and his beloved Jazz had been there for him, helping him, supporting him.

Prowl had found ways to cope. He had worked hard once he'd been taken off medical leave, throwing himself into the rebuilding of Cybertron, doing his utmost to make sure those deaths had not been in vain. Jazz had worked just as hard, and they'd been as much a power couple for the new Cybertron as they had been for the Autobots. The only real differences were that it was peacetime and they were now formally registered as _conjunx endura_.

Nearly everyone, on both former sides, had been surprised that they weren't already. Rodimus had thrown a party for the first couple to become _conjunx_ in peacetime. Prowl had wanted a quiet declaration but allowed the celebration, understanding that it wasn't really for _them_ but for everyone else. Jazz, of course, was always happy to party.

That had been one hundred years ago. The centennial of their declaration coincided with the first steps in the rebuilding of Praxus, specifically the opening of the new Helix Gardens. At the centre of the Gardens was another memorial, this one to all the mecha lost in the Fall of Praxus.

"You gonna be okay with this, Prowl?" Jazz asked as they waited in a temporary structure for the ceremony to begin.

Prowl squeezed his _conjunx_'s hand. "No, but I'll be able to get through the ceremony."

Jazz persisted. "Can still back out of making your speech, if you want."

Prowl shook his head. "No. I'm all that's left of the authority of Praxus, even if I was only a Captain when the city fell. It is only appropriate that I speak. Besides, you'll be there with me."

"Yeah, I will," Jazz promised. "Maybe not right beside while you're speaking, but I'll be there, on stage."

"Thank you, Jazz. Will you leave an open comm line with me, while I speak? I may need reassurance."

"Of course I will," Jazz answered immediately. "Anything you need, babe."

"And, I expect I'll have an emotional reaction once we're somewhere we have privacy again."

Jazz nodded. "Thought you might. Don't worry. If you fall down, I'll catch you."

Prowl managed a smile. "I know you will."

"Yeah. Love you."

"I love you, too."

The audio cue for the dignitaries to take their places sounded. Prowl gave Jazz's hand one last squeeze for reassurance, and they stepped out onto the stage, together, as always.


	24. Metatext (or, How Prowl Discovered Fanfiction)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 - What I wrote

Prowl had a DataNet address, of course, and he used it to send messages to and receive them from his fellow Autobots. The depths of Prowl's inbox were legendary, and not without cause. He never deleted anything that might be remotely useful, and he had been known to pull messages and reports regarding events everyone else had long forgotten out of the neatly partitioned sections of it. Filters sorted incoming messages for him, his calendar could be mistaken for a piece of abstract art, and the tagging system he used would have been the envy of the Hall of Records. Prowl was, quite justifiably, proud of his organization.

Prowl also had an email address connecting him to the human Internet. He was less fond of this system, considering the software to be clunky and primitive, but it saw little activity during its early years. That changed during the mid-nineties as more government and military departments came online, and humans became more comfortable with its use. The software improved, though still not to Prowl's standards. The fledgling human DataNet – Internet, they called it – was, to Prowl, a mere curiosity and he generally disregarded it. He knew, of course, that the humans had mailing lists and newsgroups devoted to discussing Cybertronians, both positive and negative alike. Prowl saw little point in reading them, though he did monitor them via software, checking for potential Decepticon activity. While he doubted Decepticons cared what humans thought, Megatron had long understood the value of propaganda and this _was_ the humans' world. The Autobots did rely on various agreements and treaties for supplies and other necessities, and those would be in jeopardy if sufficient political pressure were put on certain of their human allies.

In the early two-thousands, Prowl became aware of fanfic. This was, of course, courtesy of Jazz.

"The humans write fiction about their own media?" Prowl had asked, genuinely curious. "Are they not satisfied with the stories as told?"

Jazz shrugged. "There're a lot of reasons. Maybe they wanted more, want to think about what happened after the story they were given ended. Maybe they want to explore what happened that they _didn't _see, or they didn't like something and want to show how it could have happened differently. Ain't all fiction, either. Sometimes they write about real people – like the actors who play the characters, or historical figures, that kind of thing."

Prowl immediately put that together with the existence of the mailing lists, newsgroups, forums, and blogs devoted to Cybertronians and came to a conclusion.

"They write it about us, don't they?"

"Yeah." In an unnecessary fit of honesty, his lover added, "'Us' as in 'Autobots' and 'us' as in you and me, both. Dunno if they've figured things out or what but we're pretty popular."

"We are."

"Yup." Jazz grinned. "Guess they think we're hot together. They've got good taste, at least."

"Does this explain some of the – no," Prowl interrupted himself. "Never mind."

Jazz's grin broadened. "You're cu-urious!" he sang, leaning into Prowl's space and smacking a kiss onto his cheek. "Want some links?"

"No," Prowl said firmly. "I absolutely do not."

Jazz being Jazz, he eventually got one anyway. Prowl, knowing he would regret it, clicked anyway. At least it was saved to Jazz's personal DataNet drive, not the human's World Wide Web.

The scenario was improbable and unfamiliar: Prowl doubted he would find being trapped in a cave in freezing cold weather arousing, though the concept was fine as a fantasy. The writing style, though, that was familiar. The author had made an effort to disguise it, but Prowl knew this particular author far too well for that.

"I read your work," he informed Jazz that evening.

Jazz did his best to look innocent. "The report I filed earlier?"

"No, Jazz, not the report."

"What makes you think it was me?"

Jazz was sitting on the couch; Prowl took his hands and drew him to his feet.

"I know you, Jazz, and I know your style."

Jazz gave up looking innocent and looked a little contrite instead. "Are you mad at me? Won't do it again if you tell me not to, private or not."

Prowl leaned in as if he were going to kiss Jazz, but stopped just shy of doing so. "Check the temperature in the bedroom," he murmured, fighting back a smile, "and tell me if I'm mad or not."

Jazz must have accessed their quarters' environmental readouts, which Prowl had adjusted earlier, before Prowl even finished his sentence. A smile spread across his face.

"So, you liked what I wrote, huh?"

Prowl stepped forward, guiding Jazz toward their bedroom. "The concept was intriguing, I admit."

"Which bits?"

Prowl smirked. "Get in the 'cave,' Jazz, and I'll show you."


End file.
